What We Expect Of The Poet: Something Interesting (2015-07-19)
III. I Was Sitting In The Garden Nibbling
I was sitting in the garden nibbling on a raw carrot fresh from the earth, when the Other Poet came in the back gate. He ran up the stone path to the garden which is located on top of a small hill in the back of our backyard.
"Guess what?" he said. "You sold a poem for ten thousand dollars," I said, between nibbles. "Nope," he said. "You've taken a thirteen-year-old mistress," I said, between nibbles. "Nope," he said. "You've written the perfect poem," I said, between nibbles. "Nope," he said. I finished the carrot and said: "Alright, I give up."
"I've planted a garden," he told me, beaming, with pleasure. "Jesus Christ!" I said, "it's already September. We're going to have our first fall frost in a few weeks. You'll never grow anything this year."
"You know," he said frowning, "you aren't really cut out to be a poet."
(Excerpt from “The Art Of Prosody” chapter of my book Cold Pigging Poetics)
