the possibility of beauty (2)

Still high over Theophi's poetry. He's grown so much as a writer. i still remember our first meeting, at a reading, more than 3 years ago. He was only 18 or 19 at the time, and already his poetic voice, and the heart behind it, were mature beyond his years. The way he's writing now -- even some of the most highly-acclaimed poets have to be in their 30s or even 40s before they can write like that. Seamus Heaney was writing like that in his 50s for crying out loud. (Ok, so there is a chance that Theophi is imitating Heaney. Still i say: what a convincing imitation.)
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Sigh. Every time i think i can just put poetry aside, put writing aside, and just live the ordinary life of an ordinary person and not have to bother thinking about art because, dammit, it's just more trouble than it's worth, you know? ... Every time i get to that point, something happens that calls me back, reminds me of why i got into this in the first place, or rather, reminds me of why it will be so hard for me to ever really leave it all behind.
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Because it is part of who i am -- the same way my faith is part of who i am. To cut it out of my life would be to cut off part of life itself for me. Nothing else makes me feel so alive. (Ok, let's take that back. Being in love makes me feel equally, or more, alive, and the effect usually lasts for longer than just a few hours or days. Still, love is hard to find; and in its absence and barring divine miracles like the one year of pure reasonless joy i had from 2004 to 2005, good writing, no, breathtaking poetry, is the only thing that even comes close.)
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Life has been so grey the last few months. A mostly unrelenting grey since December. Theophi's poems were the first bit of light to pierce through the fog. In the words of Seamus Heaney, they caught my heart off-guard and blew it open. And now that i remember what that feels like, i find myself unable to imagine how i could possibly have thought that i can really go through the rest of my life without it -- and still call that a life.
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