Doing it at all

When so many, or at least some, do so much, so well, or well enough why do I bother? There is the doing it as well as the best. But, is there also the Bo Jo bother of not quite working hard enough? Literal and allegorical: did too much instant karma get me?

Wanting to be good at something can only ever be the very first step in an artist’s thousand-mile journey: that step which sets heaven and earth irrevocably apart and begins the impossible return to wholeness.

I am publishing audio files of me reciting poems over on https://soundcloud.com/thelastpoet

I suffer, as many say they do, with the cringe-worthiness of my voice. I try, now to be consciously mindful of my interior spaces but it ain’t yet Caruso! And there is no music to leaven the stone ground hard wheat of my words. I can generally stand behind several arguments made by each poem. But the arguments appear common sense and common knowledge, really:

Patterns of years and ages
and sounds that begin to repeat