Sad News and an Update
It is with great sorrow that I report the death of one of my poetry/writing mentors. Betty J. Sparks, author of “Poets Laureate of Kentucky” and many times officer of the Kentucky State Poetry Society and our own Flatwoods Poetry Society passed away this past March 16th. In the short time that I knew her, she made a great impact on me. She was the one to train me and pass on to me the Monthly Newsletter of our Society, as well as give great input and editorial advice on my work. She had a deep care and concern for the posterity of our own organization, as well as the state organization, and poetry itself.
It has taken me some time to write this, for I was out of words for many days. Personally, this was a really hard loss. I loved Betty, and was very fond of her. Her children are about my age (slightly older) and their children slightly older than mine. She had a way of caring for you, which just made your heart gravitate towards her. She could be about business, or about laughs, and you still wanted to be in the same room as her. I will miss you Betty, very much.
I have been also trying to work on my craft as a poet. I am excited to also report that Ace Boggess of Huntington West Virginia (author and editor of several books, and published hundreds of times in numerous journals) has offered to give some advice and direction on helping me get published. This is extremely encouraging to me. I sent him five poems (as per his request) and eagerly await a response. It has been almost a month, but I understand that this man is extremely busy. He is about my age (a little younger) but I have tremendous respect for him for accomplishing so much in the time he has had in this lifetime. In part, I perhaps even envy. This is not to say that I regret the path I choose when I pursued a family instead of school, but what I admire most about him, is that he has known what he wanted for some time. It took a multiple life threatening experience to help me realize that I am a poet, and have always been one.
In truth, as I continue to write poetry, and explore the world around me as I see it, I realize who I am more and more. I think that the sense of self is what I have been missing most of my life. That is probably why I have let my weight, health, and personal career paths go unattended for my short, but very long, thirty-seven years. Now that I have a sense of self, I have been able to take charge of the direction of my life, and this includes my writing.
I am coming to the conclusion that the harder I work to be a “writer”, the worse I am at it. This is due to several things. One, it is said that poets make poor writers, for whatever reason (I know that this is not the case every time, but it seems to be the predominant theory.). Two, I have not been trained as a writer. I excelled in English classes in my general education until the tenth grade when I started my short lived past of substance abuse. Then, in college, I studied literature and poetry, as well as communications and psychology. It came reasonably natural to me then, and even now as I continue to be self taught, the study of poetry comes naturally. But being a writer? That’s a different story. I have read many books on how to be a writer, and have written short stories to exercise those muscles, but in truth, I think I just don’t have the mental constitution to write fiction, nor nonfiction.
I know part of that is the extensive medication I take to remain sane and pain free. But that is a price that I am willing to pay. I have made the decision that I would rather be a decent father and husband, than what I am naturally (after extensive exposure to morphine). Some of my best work came before the medication, and even now it is hard to concentrate, but I have decided that my family is more important.
Some might say that it is a compromise to my art to do such a thing. Well, perhaps it is, but I remain in perspective that art comes second to the nobility of fatherhood and righteous husbandry. If it hasn’t been detected yet, it is noteworthy to say that there is a conflict inside of me concerning this issue. But what would a great poet be without inner conflict and turmoil?
But I digress. Being a writer, although coming natural to some, is nothing more than extremely hard work. I do have a decent work ethic, but rarely the patience to rewrite paragraph after paragraph of what my original work is. Sometimes it really needs it, and even now I know that I need to rewrite each short story I have ever written. I know that rewriting is essential to being a writer, and that is where I can’t cut it (although that’s a load of bull, because I know that I can do anything I set my mind to). I hate to kill, disregard, or erase my own creation. Although I define this as a necessary evil, I still hate to do it.
For some reason, I see this differently than reworking a poem. Although I generally like most of the first drafts of the poems I write, I have no trouble making changes. But truthfully, for me to commit words to a page, it has been thoroughly processed in my mind. It is not uncommon for me to have several projects going on in my mind at one time, and through that, I have great difficulty getting just the one out. Perhaps that is why it is so hard for me to write prose.
Regardless of this enigma, I continue to work on my “Jesus and the M16” project. I think that I am going to do a small twenty plus page chapbook with illustrations and short essays, as well as the poetry. Some of my illustrations will seem blasphemous to some, but I reject the western/European image of Jesus that has developed over the past 1700 years as to what the image of Christ is like. The image of Christ is described in Isaiah 53, and it reports, “For he grew up before him like a young plant, and like a root out of dry ground; he had no form or majesty that we should look at him, and no beauty that we should desire him.” So, I will be using the “world’s” image of Christ, to display the abuse and hypocrisy used by many of the worlds religious to justify their own agendas in a satirist way. This also goes for much of my poetry. Look at one of the more upholding poems in my collection:
Hate On the Run
There He stands
Pow, Pow, Pow
On the front line
Pow, Pow, Pow
Jesus in camo’s
Pow, Pow, Pow
M16 divine
Pow, Pow, Pow
Terrorist, Terrorist
Rat-a-tat-tat
Collateral Damage
Rat-a-tat-tat
“War is Hell”
Rat-a-tat-tat
Big fish, little fish
Rat-a-tat-tat
Jesus co-pilot
Boom, Boom, Boom
Dropping the bomb
Boom, Boom, Boom
Turn the other cheek?
Boom, Boom, Boom
Not this week!
Boom, Boom, Boom
Can you see Him?
Rat-a-tat-tat
Holding that gun?
Rat-a-tat-tat
Shooting women and children?
Rat-a-tat-tat
With hate on the run?
Rat-a-tat-tat
The images that are being portrayed here are not truthful images of Christ. But yet, there are many conservative “Christians” who are willing to justify this war in Iraq (much less any war) through their ‘faith’ and the abuse of scripture. I am no less deserving to stand before the judgment seat than anybody else, and before God, a wretched sinner undeserving of mercy (but yet through Christ, attainable), but I am observant enough, and literate enough to understand what “Turn the other cheek” means.
Enough preaching; but in truth, this is what my entire next project is about. This week, as we continue to plan and organize the Flatwoods Poetry and Art Festival (April 22, in the Flatwoods city park), I will also be arranging my manuscript for this project.
That’s the latest update, and I’ll be back sooner than later, check in soon!
posted by P. Allan Frederick | 11:25 AM
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