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The Window Seat
“They don’t read poets till they’re dead.”
That’s what my wise-guy father said.
“They wait till they have gone away
‘fore caring what they had to say.
Still if that’s what you really want,
To drink from that life’s bitter font,
Then who am I to come between
My child and my child’s dream?
But I don’t think you are aware
That this will be your cross to bear.
And don’t think you’ll be widely read
__—they don’t read poets till they’re dead. “
His words hit me right in the gut
(a father’s doubt, the deepest cut)
But something in me stirred that day,
And it has not since gone away.
So, rather than become disheartened,
His words I had soon forgotten,
—in one ear and out the other—
And I went off to talk to mother:
“You don’t need that window seat,
Looking out when you could sleep.
Remember what your father said
__—‘They don’t read poets till they’re dead.’”
This was such an odd surprise!
I could not help but wonder why
My mother, too, thought I was wrong
To want to write my whole life long.
So the years passed slowly by,
During which I spent my time
Writing out ten thousand lines
And thinking that it came out fine.
Then I went to a publisher,
The poet’s name establisher;
They didn’t read a shred, then said,
__— “They don’t read poets till they’re dead.”
But as I turned to leave the place,
the man stood up and then gave chase.
He caught me in the outer hall,
Gave me his card and said to call:
“Your poems really are quite good;
If I could publish them, I would.
The problem is that you’re alive
And, even though I’m on your side,
The public will not recognize
The substance in your living eyes.
But I’ve good news: my boss just said,
__‘We’ll print it up soon as you’re dead.’”
Thus, if you’re reading this right now,
It’s quite likely I’m in the ground,
With worms and maggots in my eyes,
Which means you finally recognize
That marrow once was in my bones
And I, too, once pushed that millstone
Up the hill that we all climb.
But now I’m gone, and worth your time;
So, since I’m dead and in your head,
I hope these words might just be read:
__The poet’s life is bittersweet
__but we enjoyed our window seat.
.
.
D.T. Holt is a new author. He will be moving to Colorado to pursue further writing.
Very nice poem, DT! Welcome to Colorado. I live in Grand Junction. We should get together…before we’re dead.
DT expresses extraordinary gratitude for your reply. He is unable to access your reply at this time. I will forward all replies to him. Thank you.
Michael, Thank you so much for your positive feedback. I am always more than receptive to the idea of meeting up with a fellow writer. I shall soon be relocating to Loveland — naturally to pursue my outsized literary ambitions (is it not true that all of our literary ambitions are outsized?). Unfortunately, I believe that Loveland is quite a lengthy jaunt from Grand Junction — but where there’s a will, there’s a way.
Enjoyable fresh take on “The Dead Poets Society,” along with one of the reasons why poets write anyway–hoping it will be read.
Thank you so very much for your reply. It means a great deal to him as a new poet. I’ll forward it DT and return his comments.
Roy, it’s so cool to get a comment form you! I have long lurked safely in the shadow of SCP readership and I have read many of your contributions. I doff my cap to you, sir. “The Dead Poets Society” is one of my favorite films. I believe subconsciously, the sentiment conveyed in the film was astir in me when writing this particular piece — a poet manqué — a postpositive expression for a postpositive breed (but clearly, you already knew that).
Good news, DT. I’m reading your poem… and you’re still alive and kicking.
Nice work.
Paul, that is very true and I am incredibly grateful. Poetry has been a great solace to me at a difficult time.
DT is unable to retrieve replies at this time. I will forward it. He wishes to exress extraordinary gratitude for your comments. As a new poet, your feedback us very helpful.
Thank you so very much for your reply. It means a great deal to him as a new poet. I’ll forward it DT and return his comments.
“Historically, very few poets have enjoyed the distinction of being widely read, especially during their lifetime. Thus, for the living, the question arises: why write poetry at all? Growing up, we are all taught that we must be practical in this life; a value is instilled in us that any activity worth doing must be profitable. As most contributors to The Society of Classical Poets know, writing poetry is very seldom profitable. Many of us have persisted in the face of doubts and apprehension of family members. Of course, publishing is a business, and poets in our age routinely meet with difficulty in their efforts to see their works published. All too often it seems that it is only in death that a poet’s name earns its patina. This is the all too common subject matter that informs The Window Seat.”
Good one, D. T. I found it quite enjoyable to read.
A new poet doesn’t need to be discouraged by not being as popular as a trending rock band. We can still make a difference in the world—anyone who needs it can see my poem “Poetic Influence” for some encouragement on that front: https://staging.classicalpoets.org/2023/02/16/poetic-influence-by-joshua-c-frank/
Thank you, Mr. Frank. I’m a young poet and am learning how to navigate a world of poetry publishing that I did not expect. Having read “Poetic Influence” — it is lovely. Hopefully, we will have many more opportunities to inspire.
I’m glad you like “Poetic Influence.” I’ve written plenty of others, which can be seen by typing my name in the search box. Susan Jarvis Bryant and Brian Yapko are especially good examples of how to write poetry (I’ve learned a lot from reading their work), as are the classics. Apart from those two, my other main individual influences are Robert Frost, William Wordsworth, and Georges Brassens.
If you’d like some one-on-one help, I could email Evan for your email address if you like.
Mr. Frank, I am happy to give you permission to get my contact information from Evan. In fact, I very much look forward to hearing from you (to take it a step further, I venture to say that I would be disappointed not to hear from you). I shall be the Jung to your Freud, the Ramachandran to your Richard Gregory, the Nietzsche to your Wagner.
I’ve just sent him the email. I’m honored that you’re so interested.
DT, I have thoroughly enjoyed this poem. Thank you! It describes the pitfall of those born to be a poet perfectly… we all know it, but the linguistic lure is too loud to deny… I know, I’ve tried.
Miss Bryant, you are an amazing poet and I’m grateful to get your comment. I have seen your work in several of the publications to which I aspire, and am humbled to know that you’ve read one of my poems. I hope that soon you will be reading many more — just as I hope to soon be reading many more of yours. You are marvelous.
My great-grandfather is reported to have said to someone in the family, “You’re as much of a poet as a sheep is a go-et.”
He may have been a useful critic. The family artists have left paintings and drawings rather than poetry. But as he passed away before my time, I have not been deterred. And I may have been helped by an elegant curved window seat! Please value poetical emblems far more than critical opinions.
Miss Coats, I am truly pleased as punch to know that this poem evoked memories in you of when you first began to come to terms with this poetic illness we share. We’re all grateful that your talent did not succumb to the negativity. The persistent critiquing is not unlike the magnifying glass that sparks the flame. It often seems as if declaring one’s poetic ambitions were akin to declaring one’s insanity. But, having read some of your work, I can see that you have resigned yourself to the illness beautifully. And, I must say, I do believe that your window seat is, indeed, immeasurably more elegant than my own. Yours is delicate and fine, whereas mine is merely a dusty pile of old rugs. The fact that a writer of your caliber has taken the time to comment is beyond humbling.
Thanks for a witty and very readable poem. I think it’s true of most artists, not just poets, that death enhances the reputation. E.g. it’s not a nice thought, but I sometimes wonder if John Lennon would be as acclaimed as he is, to this day, if he’d had a normal lifespan. This of course does not diminish the tragedy of an untimely (and violent) death.
Mr. Whippman, I love the Beatles and it certainly seems that when an artist is taken too soon, they take on the aura of legend, an almost mythical quality. John Lennon, Kurt Cobain, Amy Winehouse, Hendricks, Jim Morrison — and countless others. But, as I am sure you know it extends to poets as well like Keats, Shelley, Byron, etc . . . It is terrible because we all are left wondering what might have been. And that is the space wherein we are held captive: wondering at the possibilities of a potential only partly realized.
Hello DT.
This is a touching masterpiece. I will suggest this to all my students, upcoming poets and friends.
This shall remain in my mind for a long time to come.
Best wishes
Wow, Mr. Sarangi, I very much appreciate your compliments! I see that you were an honorable mention in the 2022 International SCP Poetry Competition, so your words genuinely mean a great deal to me. Further, I am truly flattered that you think this poem worthy of being shared with friends and used for teaching purposes. Frankly, in the writing of this, I was focusing more on content and cadence than on the technicality of form — and the loose petrameter couplets seemed to serve that purpose well.