He calls it "the poetry wars." The little world of poetry. The pie, i.e., the poetry pie... there's never enough to go around. Awards, publications, readings, honors, "A" and "B" list parties... a slice of this, a slice of that. My distinguished friend tells me of a fellow poet (also a friend) who won a major award (much deserved!) following which he hosted a party to celebrate the event, neglecting to invite my friend or myself. The truth is, I'd rather not have known of the "A" list party and puzzled as to why my distinguished friend would think I needed to know or could in any way benefit from knowing?
It's a human thing to do, says my wife. It's a way--his way--of bonding with you, this "big" literary event neither of you were invited to.
I think of Gloria Alford's print, "The Ego Like A Bizarre Balloon Rises Ever Upward." It's a variation on the title of Redon's print "The Eye..." A man on a horse--an Eighteenth Century symbol of pride--is taking an "ego trip." The horse is suspended from a puffed-up and protruding balloon, which is the only soft and vulnerable part of the print. The rest is encased in clear, flat plastic covering a blue sky full of clouds. Two Seventeenth Century angels with bows and arrows are poised ready to shoot down the balloon. The blue border, also of plastic, is a continuation of the sky.
As for myself, I grab a towel and head for the swimming pool. Even swimming, even swimming, it gets to me! As for Buddhist practice and Mindfulness, well, I'd give myself a C-.
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