Hobbies are supposed to bring you joy. That’s why we pursue
them. We do the things we love to get away from the things we don’t. Maybe we
do them to escape the daily grind or to help us cope. Anyone who has one knows
the joy and comfort they bring to us. More than that I think everybody remembers
what the first time was like, you know, when you discover it- a new hobby to
pass the time, an exciting interest that breathes new life into you. It makes
us feel taller. It makes us feel like the people we’ve always wanted to be.
When I first started writing poetry 3-4 years ago I
thought it would be a fun little hobby, perhaps a way to deal with the ups and
down of life. Along the way I’ve learned an important lesson about it. When you
can write it, you must write it. Once you realize that you can put your
thoughts down to paper, once you accept the fact that your emotions, opinions
and dreams can come alive on that page you now have an obligation to keep
going. You must. It becomes more than a hobby, it becomes necessary.
Over time writing poetry has become therapeutic for me.
Each poem is like a photograph. It’s a moment in time, captured. This was the
time I was in love, this one was the time I was bullied, insecure, amazed,
thankful, afraid, etc. It helps me to get the bad energy out of my system, and
let me tell you, some of that pain has been there a long time. When I talk
about how my grandparents wanted me to be aborted because they didn’t want a “mixed”
child, that’s something that’s been with me for over 20 years. When I talk
about getting bullied in high school, my first love, my weight problems, those
are issues that are not new. Sure, there are also pieces about recent events
but everything I write has been a byproduct of this journey I’ve been on my
whole life. I learned early on to write for myself and I definitely do but I
would be foolish not of think of others as well. Sometimes I write deeply
personal pieces and I need to write them for me but the more I’ve performed
them out in the world I’ve noticed other people relate to them. Some people
have gone through similar things, felt similar ways and it floors me. To think
I could speak for others in any way is a very humbling feeling. It was only a
few years ago where I couldn’t even speak for myself.
I don’t know if I spoke for anyone Monday night at
Babeville’s 9th Ward but damn was it a rewarding experience. I had
the opportunity to open for Saul Williams. Hold on, I have to type that again;
I opened for Saul Williams. I still can’t believe that happened. When I started
to read out almost 3 years ago I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking so
sometimes I had to hold the paper with 2 hands just so I could steady it enough
to read it. I was absolutely petrified to have everyone look at me, let alone listen
to me. My voice was soft and searching for the right volume, the right rhythm,
even the right words. One of my first times out, I actually let a bad day and
some insecurities turn me around and make me run out the door before a reading.
I went home that night, cried a little, wrote a wonderful poem about such a
terrible night and made the most of a bad situation. To this day, even though I’ve
probably read over 70-80 times now I still tremble, I still sweat like I’m
being tortured and I still get butterflies like you won’t believe but I’ve come
so far. I’ve read for 2 people and 200. I’ve read for all ages, all colors and
Monday was the culmination of all that work, all those nerves and a journey
that shall continue, perhaps for as long as I live. There I was sharing the
same stage with one of the titans of modern poetry, modern art. Part of me still
feels like I had no business being on that same stage, like who am I? Then a
different part of me reminds me that I am Eddie Gomez and I am a poet. I am a
storyteller and my work is far from over.
In other news I am going to read the Alchemist again. I’ve
already read it 3 times the last 6-7 years since I’ve owned it but I think of
that book the same way people think of religious books, hell THE religious
book. I think of it the same way people who go to church regularly or
semi-regularly think of the word. They have to go church every now and then and
remind themselves and reinforce what they believe in. They have to go and pay
respects to the word. It’s the same thing for me and that book. I have to
revisit it from time to time to reinforce and refresh the valuable lessons
inside. I know that sometimes I lose my way and have to be reminded again of
what’s important.
It’s been a heck of a week already, maybe even a heck of
a year in some respects and because of how improbably awesome things have
gotten, I’m starting to believe that things can get even improbably better! How’s
that for optimism… thank you poetry.
No comments:
Post a Comment