I USED TO BE A POET. IT GOT TOO HARD.

I have recounted my experiences in Boston in the early 1990’s and my involvement with the burgeoning poetry scene. After acquiring (by duplicitous means) a poetry anthology with an extended section on prosody, I devoted myself to the use of various poetic forms. It was both an educational and emotional experience.

I performed in poetry slams, a guy reading sonnets while other contestants emoted on their personal angst. Perhaps it was a background in theater that got me through when the poems weren’t exactly the type being recited by professional slammers. Either way, to have someone dub me “the Bard of Boston’ was gratifying enough.

I gathered together similar poems that were based on the ideas of magic and mystical arts, comparing a young boy’s development as a magician with that of a poet. It was designed to weave together themes of ephemeral creation. The collection was called “The Art of Legerdemain.”

I segued into creating a major poetic work based on the life of Charlie Parker. It was a combination of poetry, documentary, and real quotes. It was an attempt to reach beyond form to something that would equate with the be-bop freestyle of Bird. It was likely that last major piece of poetry I worked on.

There was something of a similar nature, albeit shorter, written almost twenty years later to go along with a small piece here or there. Once I turned my attention to fiction, the well, so to speak, dried up.

Poetry focuses on rhythm, selective word choice, provocative images. Fiction requires character development and plotting. Dialogue is a pale imitation for poetry. I likened it to a baker trying to perfect his pasta making skills or a French chef reliant on heavy sauces changing to the clean simplicity of a sushi chef.

Writing, or any art for that matter, is difficult. When I was involved in poetry, switching from a sonnet to a sestina to free verse were mere steps from one side of a room to another. With such a distance, it feels as though I am not only in a different room but a different building altogether. Some would believe all writing is the same. I assure you that Shakespeare would have difficulty writing like Hemingway and vice versa.

I have promised myself that, once I retire, I will focus more on diversifying, learning, and growing. Perhaps only then will I have enough time to get over the hurdles from a once favored art form. For now, I reflect and enjoy the work of the past and accept it for what it was.