Unexpected Inspiration
I happened to be at a meeting yesterday. It was a small group – only eight people, including myself – and I didn’t really have any purpose there; I was tagging along with my wife, Kathy. The meeting was a sort of graduation for an eight-week seminar in which the participants learned how to express themselves through art and creative writing.
One of the attendees was David, a young poet who had run a session on writing poetry. To commemorate the graduation, he read one of his own poems. Afterwards, when we were all wiping away tears and applauding his powerful performance, he called the piece a “spirit-calling.” Other poems took months to craft, but this one came from within and came from above.
Later, Kathy, and I got to speak with him a little more. It took a bit of effort on my part because I tend to be shy, but this felt like a special occasion, and I didn’t want to lose the opportunity to tell him how beautiful the piece was. Kathy also added how the poem had moved her.
For a moment, David stood there, breathing slowly, as though inhaling a wonderful scent. Then I realized he was taking it in – our compliments. He didn’t rush to dismiss them or to give credit to someone else or to praise another poet as a much better writer. He looked nourished by the compliments without there being any danger of their going to his head.
Poetry is hit or miss for me. It’s kind of like the music of the Beatles: I can appreciate the cultural significance of a lot of it without being a huge fan. Then along comes that special song or poem, and I get it. I get why music engages us and why poetry rises from the soul.
One of my favorite poets in Wislawa Szymborska, who won the 1996 Nobel Prize in Literature. She said, “Each of us has a very rich nature and can look at things objectively, from a distance, and at the same time can have something more personal to say about them. I am trying to look at the world, and at myself, from many different points of view. I think many poets have this duality.”
I like to think that my “spirit-calling” was to be there, listen, and to be inspired.
One of the attendees was David, a young poet who had run a session on writing poetry. To commemorate the graduation, he read one of his own poems. Afterwards, when we were all wiping away tears and applauding his powerful performance, he called the piece a “spirit-calling.” Other poems took months to craft, but this one came from within and came from above.
Later, Kathy, and I got to speak with him a little more. It took a bit of effort on my part because I tend to be shy, but this felt like a special occasion, and I didn’t want to lose the opportunity to tell him how beautiful the piece was. Kathy also added how the poem had moved her.
For a moment, David stood there, breathing slowly, as though inhaling a wonderful scent. Then I realized he was taking it in – our compliments. He didn’t rush to dismiss them or to give credit to someone else or to praise another poet as a much better writer. He looked nourished by the compliments without there being any danger of their going to his head.
Poetry is hit or miss for me. It’s kind of like the music of the Beatles: I can appreciate the cultural significance of a lot of it without being a huge fan. Then along comes that special song or poem, and I get it. I get why music engages us and why poetry rises from the soul.
One of my favorite poets in Wislawa Szymborska, who won the 1996 Nobel Prize in Literature. She said, “Each of us has a very rich nature and can look at things objectively, from a distance, and at the same time can have something more personal to say about them. I am trying to look at the world, and at myself, from many different points of view. I think many poets have this duality.”
I like to think that my “spirit-calling” was to be there, listen, and to be inspired.
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