WORDS OF WISDOM

Writing is not a matter of choice. Writers have to write. It is somehow in their temperament, in the blood, in tradition.

~N. Scott Momaday 

A PLACE TO GO

 

FAME vs OBSCURITY

I believe both fame and obscurity can be double edged swords. With the former the author can be acknowledged by admirers, publisher, and society. The drawback is the expectations people have about the author's work. He/she is expected to churn out a best seller all the time. That task can be daunting and unreasonable.

There are many fine authors who works, for different reasons, do not get the notoriety that they could and should. Conventions of the times, the writing style of the author, gender, and lack of resources are some things that may play a role in an author's lack of fame. Some chose to write in obscurity so not to get caught up in the glitz and glamor of a literary star.

I am working on a chapbook of poetry that I want to have published. If notoriety comes, fine. If not, I'm fine with that also. To me if one person is affected by my work, I'm pleased. 

WORDS OF WISDOM

Of all those arts in which the wise excel, Nature's chief masterpiece is writing well.

~Andre Breton, Poet (1896-1966)

WRITERS/POETS BORN IN MAY

Dante Alighieri

Mary Biddinger

Sterling A. Brown

G. K. Chesterton 

Robert Creeley

Countee Cullen

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Joy Harjo

Joseph Heller

Randall Jarrell

Adrienne Rich

Theodore Roethke

Charles Simic

Gary Snyder

Walt Whitman

WRITER'S JOURNEY

 

WORDS OF WISDOM

 

OBSCURE POET-WILFRED OWEN

 

WILFRED OWEN

Born March 18, 1893

One of the leading poets of the First World War

Influences- the bible, the Romantic poets, particularly William Wordsworth and John Yeats.

Verse was about the horrors of trench and gas warfare.

Killed in action  November 4, 1918 at age 25.

Regarded my many as the greatest poet of WWI. 

Anthem for Doomed Youth

BY WILFRED OWEN

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?

      — Only the monstrous anger of the guns.

      Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle

Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells; 

      Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;

      And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?

      Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes

Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.

      The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,

And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.