Arc of the Poet, Part 9: Dear Departures

Arc of the Poet
Part 1: Life Poetry
Part 2: Tour de Force
Part 3: True Love
Part 4: Spinning Out
Part 5: Wake-Up Call
Part 6: Serious Dreams
Part 7: Home Stretch
Part 8: Feedback
Part 9: Dear Departures
Part 10: Good Poetry
Part 11: Rewrites
Part 12: Resistance
Part 13: Fame and Fortune
Part 14: Ramblings
Part 15: Being

In the summer of 1993, I was very proud to be the husband of Beth Darnell, a homeowner in downtown Orlando, and a genuine communications industry professional making some headway as a writer, producer and photojournalist. My campaign efforts pitching my original creative entries into literary publications produced no other significant results, until one day a poem came back with this kind note (click for full-size) attached.

I could have wept. Here’s the poem it was attached to.

If Virtue Had Teeth, by Roger Darnell

One day I stopped dusting my old trophies.
I stopped gluing them back together when they broke
And became kind of embarrassed for people to see them.
They used to mean so much to me.

One day, I’ll get a big check as payment
For something I’ve written. Soon thereafter,
I’ll look for another check, of higher value,
That may or may not ever come.

One day, fortune will smile on me.
I won’t have to chase the elusive ghost of finance
And I’ll breathe the fine air of freedom —
I react well to environmental changes.

One day, I will lay my pen down
For the last time. It may roll off to the ground
And I won’t pick it up. I’ll realize
What I’ve not written — and it won’t matter.

Many days, I will continue to live without you
Facing the gray numbness, the envelope.
While I know that life is life, and I must cherish it,
My happiness, security, motivation, miss you.

One day I’ll understand my primal longings.
I’ll live the glorious days, and rarely recall
These soul searches. Although, I could be mistaken —
They might, eventually, mean a lot to me.

These words had been written several years earlier, during the summer of 1990, my last year at UCF. As documented in this arc, that was an excellent time for me; I had stayed busy, applied myself, and focused on the girl of my dreams — and some other really positive developments in my life. It’s not one of the greatest poems I’ve ever written, but I feel it colorfully reflects some of the key virtues of my life at that time. I’m especially proud that it helped me make a connection with Tom Tilford, then-editor of Midwest Poetry Review, who with his small note, gave my life new meaning in August, 1993.

The final poems I added into my first poetry manuscript also were written in 1990, so “If Virtue Had Teeth” was among a few I thought worth sharing in my newer era. Along with some other poems and shorts I wrote before receiving Tom’s note above, it was included in two different collections I submitted into various competitions over the years to follow. Looking back on it now, after encountering so much indifference to my work, I see that Tom’s note gave me the sense that someone was reading it… which suddenly made me look at everything I’d been submitting much more realistically. In the late summer of 1993, as I considered all the legitimately great literary writing widely evident through magazines, books, newspapers, and on cable TV and the radio, compared with what I had to offer, I was humbled.

Then, something unbelievable happened: a dear friend from my senior year of high school died. Dante Castellano was the great guy who befriended me in 1983 and helped me see the world from new heights. His family embraced me, too, and they were warm, wonderful, and tightly knit, as well as being very well-to-do. I was hurt when one day, my friendship was just dropped, but I carried on, forged ahead, and relied more on other friends. During the years that followed, I feel that if we’d seen each other again, we would have quickly built solid new bridges together, but we never had that opportunity. We had well over 1,000 in our 1984 graduating class from Oak Ridge High School… and in 1993, I learned how dear Dante had been to each of us. Especially knowing how much he had going for him, no one ever imagined his life would end so soon.

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Along with many other Oak Ridge Pioneers and residents of Orlando, I marched forward in my life’s walk, and the depth of my experiences helped me value my many growing sources of joy and happiness. Beth and I loved living in our own home, near Oak Ridge rival Boone High, and on many mornings, we ran together. Then, she would go to her job leasing luxury apartments while I worked freelance and on writing projects like a feature-length screenplay about a boy’s experience one summer playing baseball and growing up.

In this setting, my inner poet began to shapeshift. The poem below was written a few months after receiving that first historic note from Tom Tilford. Personally, I feel it shows some signs of improved craftsmanship. Your feedback is most welcome.

The Little Devil, by Roger Darnell

It chills me to death that
the world passes by
like a pinwheel spin;
like a fast-blinking eye

never knowing the touch
of a far-seeing boy
who’s aspired to shape–
out of life’s gifts–more joy?

No; it’s more than that, honestly:
life, when it’s withered,
must result in some stockpile
of brilliance delivered.

As a cart passed-by doorsteps
and daily I filled it,
some bell softly sank-in
to earth. I have killed it.

I’m nothing; I’m slipping;
I’ve read but not written;
to sleep does he lead me;
by devil, I’m smitten.