issue90poemoftheweek

by David Mark Dannov

(June 25th,,2007)

If you’re just
deciding to become a writer,

let me give you
a few pointers.

Make sure you get a taste
for whiskey
or some other hard alcohol.

You’re going to need it.
    More than you’ll ever imagine.

    After ten years of rejection
    and working shit jobs,
    treated as a loser
    in your own country,
    filing for divorce,
    living alone,
    castrated by beautiful women,
you better damn well
    believe
    you’re going to need it.

And that’s just the beginning.

    Learn to like exercise.
    There’s only so long
    a man
    can sit behind a screen
    before he loses it.

    The body is alive
    and don’t forget that.

Get out there
    and move your shit around.

Get the lungs pumping.
    Running, biking, walking.
    Some
    cardiovascular-itch.

    You’ll be amazed
    how rejuvenated you’ll feel;
    it takes the edge off,
    keeps you going,
    reminds you
     to cast aside all this art bullshit—
     that you’re still part of the moment
     living
     in the
        breathing
              now.

Find other outlets.
     Writing can only take you so far.
Once you’ve found your voice,
     which is a hellish journey in itself,
     it’s a drawn out waiting game.

You’ll send out poems
    or novels or plays
    in the mail,
    always
    waiting for the acceptance of a publisher.

   To bide your time,
   your creative juices
   will continue to burst.

Don’t let alcohol or drugs
   or perversion take over
   these opportunities of expression.

Paint, sculpt, play the guitar—
    dance if you must.

Just find something
     that’ll ease the pain
     of being unrecognized for your efforts.

A girlfriend
is an added bonus,

and if you find the right one,
she’ll support you
with the spirit
of a cheerleading team.

If she cooks,
   all the more inspiration.
Nothing like a home-cooked meal
   to soothe
   the soul.

Live alone.
   This is vital
   if you’re absolutely serious
   about writing.
   A wife
   or a live-in girlfriend
   will suck up
   all your time.

Don’t ever take
   a full time job
   or give in to a career.

Not only will it
   weaken you,
   but you’ll never
   be able to think with enough time
   to get the words on the page.
You’ll be their slave
   and that’s all you’ll be.
   And if you do find time to write,
   your words
   are usually softened
   by the securities of a reliable income.

Do not worry
   about life insurance,
   dental, or health benefits.
If some illness comes up, you must be willing
   to attend
   your local free clinic.
   Or just grin and bear it.

Accept the fact
   that you’ll be poor
   for a very long time.
   Twenty, thirty, or forty years
   with the risk
   of never having a book
   on a bookstore shelf.

Be willing to eat Top Ramen,
   starving,
   in a heater-less
   studio
   on Christmas Eve.

Humble yourself
   in the company of slim, young women,
   since they only go for the guys
   with cash.

Find a landlord
   that’s willing to let you slide
   being late on the rent
   every few months.

Accept the regret
   in your father’s eyes
for not understanding
   your poverty-stricken life.

Hold on
when your friends
get married
and disappear
into the mainstream. It hurts.

Drive an old car
that’s always on the verge
of breaking down.

Get used to small living quarters.
    Live with ghosts.

Be patient,
   even with an empty refrigerator.

   A kind of schizophrenic quirk
   usually helps.
   This’ll only add to the quality
   of your writing.
Nothing like a mad dog
   mad-dogging
   the world.

Throw religion
out the window
   like a
   chicken bone.

Toss morality
     in the back alley trash.

Leave hope for mankind
on the doorstep
of an x-lover’s mat.

A cat
can ease the sting—if you’re not allergic.

Read an entire library, but only read
     the books that shoot bullets
     from the page.

Sleep as much as you can,
   but be prepared for the worst kind of nights.
   9 hours of sleep in 3 days.

If you’re just deciding to become a writer,
   you’ve got a long road ahead of you:
   days and nights of total bleeding hell.

   You better be prepared.
   You better be willing
   to carry
   the cross.

ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE. COM

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