by David D. Horowitz
What are you waiting for? You’re thirty-five years old, and you still don’t own a house or car or DVD player. Where’s your success? Have you sold a single manuscript to a major East Coast publisher?
I more skillfully employ complex rhyme schemes. I no longer overuse jingly alliteration; I can alliteratively hint at comparison and contrast. I’ve learned how to use enjambment to make iambics feel conversational, not monotonously jaunty. My craft and themes deepen, and perhaps half a dozen of my poems are accepted at small literary journals each year. I love my life as a poet, and my day job is solid, pays the bills, and connects me to the larger, non-literary world.
Fine, but what are you waiting for? You’re forty years old, and you still don’t own a house or car or BlackBerry. Have you sold a single manuscript to a major East Coast publisher? Does anyone make movies based on self-published poetry chapbooks? Get serious about life already!
My work is starting to evince the kind of maturity and skill I’d always hoped it would. My readings attract five or ten more people than in my earliest days as a performing poet. Better journals accept my work. I teach an occasional class at a local writing institute, and I am getting better known beyond my immediate region, because I often tour and because an “alternative-radio” program sometimes features my work. I might have to self-publish my next book, but it will find a larger readership than my chapbook did. My new day job features great benefits, although sometimes I come home a bit tired. I’m not complaining, though. I’m happy and have many good friends in the arts.
Not complaining!? You should! Where are your house, your car, your marriage and kids, and all that makes American life so great? I’m concerned about you! You’re forty-five! Grow up, and drop this poetry stuff. You’re not that talented, anyway. Make a real living, and focus on genre fiction or ghostwrite celebrity biographies. Sure, be a writer, but sell some manuscripts to a serious publisher already! What are you waiting for?
As an occasional teacher, I’ve learned to suggest and cautiously advise—not intrude or condescend. My craft approaches the level of expertise. I win recognition as a fine performer, and my work continues to be published by small press literary journals. I achieve some degree of success—but my heart remains committed to producing fine poetry, not obsessing over success. I still appreciate hearing a sparrow when I wake and walk outside at dawn. When is the last time you did this? What are you waiting for?