The Art of Poetry

THE ART OF POETRY


When I was a young poet I loved Philip Whalen's poems
so much that Philip Whalen became a hero in my heart
He also became a bald-headed Zen monk
But then years later I heard Philip Whalen in the flesh
read his poems
He didn't read his poems like I thought he should
He didn't shout them with the holy energy that I thought
they deserved And he was surrounded by a reverent
and hungry herd of dharma heirs
They were like mollusks on the side of an old ship
So I decided I didn't like Philip Whalen's poems
so much after all
His poems slipped into my darkness
I went about writing my poems and trying to make a living
The years passed like a mountain
Sitting quietly in the desert wanting to be
a mountain again
Then one morning I woke up and forgave Philip Whalen
He could read his poems any way he wanted
He could be a bald-headed Zen monk any way he wanted
Me, I was going to read the poems the way I wanted to
Because some of those poems are like heroes in my heart.

--Bobby Byrd

(published in Borderlands