POETRY
I (Nicholas) was invited by my good friend Sarah Gajkowski-Hill to participate in a poetry reading themed on resiliency. I was a bit apprehensive, at first. I am not a poet, and I wasn’t sure I could contribute anything to the many wonderful and beautiful thoughts on resiliency that have been shared by writers and poets before and during the COVID-19 pandemic. I remembered, however, that I feel much at home among a gathering of writers. I wrote this poem specifically for the event after tossing and turning over what to read. It came after I finally calmed down and remembered the best source of any writing comes from within.
And speaking of my general lack of poetry, I cannot begin to describe how wonderful this event was. There truly are healing powers locked in the simple act of gathering people to share art and creativity. A huge thank you to Sarah and the other poets/writers who contributed: Robin Reagler, Carol Denson, Loida Casares, Jeffrey Michael Eernisse, Franz Von Hill, Sarah Martinez, and Sarah Hill herself. I figured the best way to capture the energy from that evening and honor the event is to share my poem here.
Untitled
This evening, I’d like to
briefly examine the remarkable
resilience of writer’s block —
even as I sit to write my thoughts
on all things resilient, I am
plagued with the unyielding tendency
to jump into a raucous debate on Signal
regarding the folly or fortune behind
production of a TV series based on
Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time,
Or pausing to view three more online
videos of Martín Maldonado throwing
an 80+ mile-per-hour perfectly placed
dime to Carlos Correa — denying
a steal by Alex Verdugo and completing
the most epic double play to go-ahead
your Houston Astros to the 2021 World Series.
The importance of each angle so I may complete
my eighth retweet on the matter since the
incident occurred late Friday evening. And
still, STILL, like Elizabeth Warren, the
writer’s block and procrastination persisted,
weighing on my shoulders like that creature
who tried to trap Sarah Williams in Jareth’s
Labyrinth by piling her childhood baubles
on her back. It is like that time when I quit
law school to “become a writer” in defiance
of all my parents’ expectations — and I decided
this, THIS, this is the time to write a novel
and work graveyard at a 24-hour diner in Austin
and open a World of Warcraft account as
suggested by my weed dealer.
The resilient enabling of writer’s block.
Or that time my wife, Jessica, and I visualized
the layout of our family home and
decided the largest and most accessible
room will be “the playroom,” which is
a horrible idea because you are reserving
an eighth of your home to ungrateful children
who will turn your design to their unused
toy and food bin.
So at the start of the pandemic, when made to
consider the challenges associated with staying
closer to home, you behold that room and its
sticky flotsam knowing you can manage
better use of this space your children
don’t even use.
And here you envision the office of your
dreams, that space pondered over
by many a writer in times of writer’s
block and procrastination. LitHub tweeted
about this in 2015, remember? Something about,
describe your ideal writing space:
Dark walnut shelves and cabinets,
books upon books, the smell of bourbon
and cedar, a green velvet couch and a
desk found on the Facebook
neighborhood page: “Free! — just
come grab it. Get it off our hands so we can
clear a room for our grandkid.”
So, your wife grabs the desk because
she loves you and she wants you to stop
talking about it and write the damn book!
So, she refurbishes this desk and designs
your office to a perfection unimagined —
certainly beyond the embarrassing nakedness
of your 2015 tweet. And there you sit with
your eighth cup of coffee, poised to finish
the next American novel, and you sit…
to admire the furnishings,
and you sit…
to flip through a book,
and you sit… to have a conversation with the
dog, and after all that you STILL cannot
overcome the resilient nature of writer’s block,
and it is a resilient nature and not resiliency
in and of itself because we few and often
discouraged writers strive daily to one day
overcome… like now.
Richard Bach said, “A professional writer is
and amateur who hasn’t quit.”
Yesterday, my son, after seeing two rainbows
in the sky said, “Rainbows appear when everyone
is having a good time, and he clearly is a better poet
than Dad is. His mom asked him, “What is the Spanish
word for rainbow?”
arcoíris, she said —
are-coo-ee-rees, he said —
arcoíris, we said —
arcoíris
arcoíris
arcoíris
My daughter was born October 2017,
which meant we’d stay up late and watch
the Astros win the World Series, and I
realized (not then, but later) the
resilient nature of writer’s block is
overcome everyday, every moment
we simply work.
My Property professor in law school
used to tell her students, “None of us
are writers, because if we were, we wouldn’t
be sitting here.”
So, what I’ve learned is to fight the dragon
with its own teeth — but also bring friends, like your
son, your daughter, your wife, Jessica, and your dog;
bring the 2017 Houston Astros, the 2021 Houston Astros,
law school dropouts, coffee, the movie Labyrinth,
all who are having a good time, Elizabeth Warren,
alliteration and consonance.
Arcoíris
Arcoíris
Arcoíris
If you have all this — maybe you’ll write
about something.
Enough to close a notebook
you’ve kept since 2003.
