So, What Did You Think?

Earl Melbourne Carpenter


My cousin, Jim Currie is a writer, a mensch, and that honest man we all seek when we perform in a show, or write something, or sculpt something, or polish our car, or grow facial hair. But honesty is a quagmire of daggers that too often plunge into the softest and least protected parts of our ego, of our heart, maybe even our essence; but that is doubtful when we abandon the monkey mind of the right side.

Who amongst us has not solicited feedback from a friend, a spouse, a girlfriend, or relative whose opinion we convince ourself is essential? And when the lips move, and the feedback is negative, which it certainly can be, there are few pains that rival that which erupts in your chest, squeezing your heart like a lemon. So what is the answer. What does the wise writer do?

We do not write in a vacuum, nor would we want our words to fall into muteness in a windstorm of criticism. I have been sending my poetry, and some other writings, to Jim over the years. Mostly he remains silent, stewing in his own juices and not sharing the bouquet with me. Recently I sent him two of my new poems and he responded that he is at a point in his life where he no longer enjoys poetry, or the criticism of same. I asked him to elaborate, and his response was classic; very honest, and it cut deeply into the first three layers of my artistic epidermal. But re-reading his response several times, I began to see and appreciate the wisdom in his views. He still calls me "Butch", my family nick name. I answer to that name only seldom presently since most of the family have moved on to other planes. His uncle, my grandfather, Earl Carpenter, was an inspired artist, landscape painter. He and I loved him.

Glenn

No need to take offense to my views about poetry. You asked and I replied. And anything I said wasn't meant to be specific to your own poetry. I don't even know if it applies to you. I didn't fully invest, in part, because I didn't want to create this kind of relationship. It's too damn tricky. Imagine Earl shedding his work for others to give him feedback on? He only had that relationship with two people. I'm sure that was intentional. It requires great delicacy and confidence unless you (i.e. anyone) is prepared to be ripped. In my case I don't want to be ripping anyone or compelled to offer praise if I don't feel the inclination.

People are very sensitive about their writing, and I'm no different. I've learned over time not to solicit opinions unless I have a student-teacher relationship with them, they're an editor, or the one person who I allow to rip me and praise me because I know it's all for the good. Of course, this doesn't mean she doesn't occasionally piss me off or that sometimes I simply know that she is wrong and move on. I do listen to her, though. Over time I learn to discern what is her own subjective bs and what is veritas. I'm sure she finds all of this quite exhausting, which of course is one of the reasons I don't set myself to do the same for others.

I can't afford to have this relationship with others, nor would I really want it. It's occasionally stressful and always makes for complication.

Writing can be a very lonely art, but we do it because there is no real choice. A big part of commercial writing is developing a rinpoche-like detachment. You realize that you're operating in the world of aesthetics in which most standards are subjective. Increasingly I gravitate to writing that is unpopular and out of date, so my opinion should be of no consquesnce.

Enough said on this subject. I would rather discuss ideas than be any kind of a literary critic.

Jim