One reason why I don’t often write poetry is because, well, I am not a poet. I find the democracy of spoken word to be intriguing, yet at the same time problematic in its creation of an entire generation of individuals who are poets simply because they write down a witty phrase or share their feelings. I equate my own talent with this approach. To me, true poesy is a skill not easily achieved. My favorite poets–John Keats, Ezra Pound, Sylvia Plath, Philip Levine–these individuals studied poesy, they revised endlessly, understood the anxiety of influence, and devoted their entirety to their work. My friend Stephen Mills is such a poet. I have had the privilege of hearing him read from his book He Do the Gay Man in Different Voices twice now, most recently at the Maitland Art Center’s Culture and Cocktails night, which was put together by the lovely and talented Ashley Inguanta. His poetry is raw, complex, intimate, and resplendently beautiful. It is also clearly poesy–it illustrates technical prowess, proficiency, and a clear attention to the complexity of language. Please read his poetry, then compare it to the middle school ramblings below. This is draft one of my latest, “Before I left Orlando, I fell in love with possibility.”
Update: here are a few immediate revisions I made that I did not have a chance to upload:
