Friday, June 27, 2008
A Fatted Calf
Yesterday's post made me sound like an elitist jerk, something I never want to be. Again, quoting a little from Kim Stafford's book about his father: "That was it. There was an aristocracy of creation. Membership was absolute, but available. Forceful people were excluded, the proud, the pretenders, excluded because they declined "to be willingly fallible in order to find their way." But anyone who told their own puzzling story could be in the circle. Anyone who paid attention by writing or speaking their own truth could be Caesar of the vast, fragile empire of one life, and championed."
I believe that anyone "who pays attention by writing or speaking their own story" should be included and championed in whatever "circle" of aristocracy there might be. I know that here, in my town, and maybe in yours as well, there exists a chasm between the university poets, the educated, those who have a degree, and the ordinary town poets. Bill Stafford was always "an includer." Everybody was welcomed to the party, met with robes and rings and a fatted calf. That's the way it should be.
(painting: The Prodigal Son, by Gerrit van Honthosrt, 1622)