I’m not one for New Years resolutions. Change doesn’t have to wait for a prompt by a calendar, and any true change is a continuous challenge that will need to be refreshed and begun again. I do, however, welcome inspiration always—New Year or not. At a New Year’s Eve party, a friend read this poem to me, and it was as if the universe reached out a gentle hand and lovingly shifted my direction. And so, I leave you with the inspirational words of Lawrence Ferlinghetti.
Invent a new language anyone can understand.
Climb the Statue of Liberty.
Reach for the unattainable.
Kiss the mirror and write what you see and hear.
Dance with wolves and count the stars,
including the unseen.
Be naive, innocent, non-cynical, as if you had
just landed on earth (as indeed you have, as
indeed we all have), astonished by what you
have fallen upon.
Write living newspapers. Be a reporter
from outer space, filing dispatches to some
supreme managing editor who believes in full
disclosure and has a low tolerance level for hot air.
Write an endless poem about your life on
earth or elsewhere.
Read between the lines of human discourse.
Avoid the provincial, go for the universal.
Think subjectively, write objectively.
Think long thoughts in short sentences.
Don’t attend poetry workshops, but if you do,
don’t go to learn ‘how to” but to learn
“what” (What’s important to write about).
Don’t bow down to critics who have not
themselves written great masterpieces.
Resist much, obey less.
Secretly liberate any being you see in a cage.
Write short poems in the voice of birds.
Make your lyrics truly lyrical. Birdsong is not
made by machines. Give your poems wings
to fly to the treetops.
The much-quoted dictum from William Carlos
Williams, “No ideas but in things,” is OK for
prose, but it lays a dead hand on lyricism,
since “things” are dead.
Don’t contemplate your navel in poetry and
think the rest of the world is going to think
it’s important.
Remember everything, forget nothing.
Work on a frontier, if you can find one.
Go to sea, or work near water, and paddle
your own boat.
Associate with thinking poets. They’re hard
to find.
Cultivate dissidence and critical thinking.
“First thought, best thought” may not make
for the greatest poetry. First thought may be
worst thought.
What’s on your mind? What do you have
in mind? Open your mouth and stop mumbling.
Don’t be so open-minded that your brains fall
out.
Question everything and everyone. Be subversive,
constantly questioning reality and
the status quo.
Be a poet, not a huckster. Don’t cater, don’t
pander, especially not to possible audiences,
readers, editors, or publishers.
Come out of your closet. It’s dark in there.
Raise the blinds, throw open your shuttered
windows, raise the roof, unscrew the locks
from the doors, but don’t throw away the
screws.
Be committed to something outside yourself.
Be militant about it. Or ecstatic.
To be a poet at sixteen is to be sixteen, to be
a poet at 40 is to be a poet. Be both.
Wake up and pee, the world’s on fire.
Have a nice day.
The Grace Period Blog 