I love poetry. I think I would rather be known as a "poet" than a "writer." It just sounds more . . . beat. Yet I guess poets are writers, and of course Jack Kerouac and his compadres blurred the line between prose and poetry. Proesy?
Google brings up no definition for "proesy." But see Proesy. (This will drive some traffic to a fellow blogger's blog, a beat thing to do. Quid pro quo anyone?)
I especially love certain poets. Emily Dickinson (ever since high school). e e cummings (ever since high school). Edwin Arlington Robinson (ever since high school and by the way I've journaled about him - see EAR.
Hmmm . . . . It would seem I had a kick-ass high school English teacher who exposed me to some good stuff. His name was (is) Brian Stahler. Any kudos to me about my writing are due him. Thanks, Mr. Stahler. Best teacher I ever had. Hardest, too. Probably a correlation there. Had one of his teachers at Lock Haven State College. Learned that the acorn doesn't fall far from the oak.
Who have I appreciated lately? Charles Bukowski for one. Check him out.
How does one "become" a poet? Well, first of all, one cannot become anything. One just is. So let's rephrase. How does one "be" a poet?
One is a poet when one writes poetry. Daily. Which reminds me of my beat poet friend, Charlie, for whom I am serving as compiler/editor of a collection of his poems. He writes every day. Not all of it is "worthy." But it's about the discipline of the craft!
Seems simple enough. But it is hard, my fellow prisoners, damn hard. One has to go mad to write good poetry.
Let the madness begin . . . .