A Poet's Dilemma

An article in the New York Times entitled Insomnia and the Poet truly struck me.  Lisa Russ Spaar declared she was "as grateful for the ameliorating advances of sleep scientists as I am for the revelations of a host of poets who manage to make art, if not meaning, out of sleeplessness."  Sparr proposed that while sleeplessness was indeed a debilitating affliction, she was also grateful for the surges of creativity that were spawned out of a restless mind.
As a victim of sleeplessness this week, I tested this hypothesis.  I am generally a creative person- I love poetry, enjoy sketching, go to Brooklyn and I instagram (first joke in this blog, applause).  So, I thought that my temporary split insomniac personality would without a doubt conjure up some deep wisdom.  Much to my dismay, I was wide awake, thoughts racing- but not about poetry or philosophy- but about what I would eat the next day, calling my mother, and whether or not it would be warm enough to not wear tights.  The next morning I was tired and disappointed in how unproductive my sleeplessness was. I am always looking for the spare moment where I can let my stream of awesomeness ooze out of me, reflected in beautiful lines of poetry.

So why do I feel like it is an assignment? This is where my infinite wisdom kicked in:

Creativity is not born out of allotted time constraints, or constant ruminating- it is as spontaneous as it is calculated. What I mean by calculated is: consciously viewing regular and mundane instances through a different lens- not forcefully but introspectively.  Just like any other muscle, our creative juices need pumping! I found myself at my desk this morning feeling tired and dejected but with a newfound goal: be consistent with my creative side. This is not a discovery of a new chromosome but it is something I believe people in this dynamic age struggle with materializing. This is a creative age. So whether it is on the subway, grocery store or in a room full of candles and Zen music, engage your mind to its full potential. It doesn't have to be writing. All in all- I am committed. Tapping into my creative edge is not like going to the gym or eating broccoli. I will take baby steps toward letting my inner Socrates/Neruda out.

As a victim of sleeplessness this week, I tested this hypothesis.  I am generally a creative person- I love poetry, enjoy sketching, go to Brooklyn and I instagram (first joke in this blog, applause).  So, I thought that my temporary split insomniac personality would without a doubt conjure up some deep wisdom.  Much to my dismay, I was wide awake, thoughts racing- but not about poetry or philosophy- but about what I would eat the next day, calling my mother, and whether or not it would be warm enough to not wear tights.  The next morning I was tired and disappointed in how unproductive my sleeplessness was. I am always looking for the spare moment where I can let my stream of awesomeness ooze out of me, reflected in beautiful lines of poetry.
So why do I feel like it is an assignment? This is where my infinite wisdom kicked in:

Creativity is not born out of allotted time constraints, or constant ruminating- it is as spontaneous as it is calculated. What I mean by calculated is: consciously viewing regular and mundane instances through a different lens- not forcefully but introspectively.  Just like any other muscle, our creative juices need pumping! I found myself at my desk this morning feeling tired and dejected but with a newfound goal: be consistent with my creative side. This is not a discovery of a new chromosome but it is something I believe people in this dynamic age struggle with materializing. This is a creative age. So whether it is on the subway, grocery store or in a room full of candles and Zen music, engage your mind to its full potential. It doesn't have to be writing. All in all- I am committed. Tapping into my creative edge is not like going to the gym or eating broccoli. I will take baby steps toward letting my inner Socrates/Neruda out.


So why do I feel like it is an assignment? This is where my infinite wisdom kicked in:
Creativity is not born out of allotted time constraints, or constant ruminating- it is as spontaneous as it is calculated. What I mean by calculated is: consciously viewing regular and mundane instances through a different lens- not forcefully but introspectively.  Just like any other muscle, our creative juices need pumping! I found myself at my desk this morning feeling tired and dejected but with a newfound goal: be consistent with my creative side. This is not a discovery of a new chromosome but it is something I believe people in this dynamic age struggle with materializing. This is a creative age. So whether it is on the subway, grocery store or in a room full of candles and Zen music, engage your mind to its full potential. It doesn't have to be writing. All in all- I am committed. Tapping into my creative edge is not like going to the gym or eating broccoli. I will take baby steps toward letting my inner Socrates/Neruda out.


Creativity is not born out of allotted time constraints, or constant ruminating- it is as spontaneous as it is calculated. What I mean by calculated is: consciously viewing regular and mundane instances through a different lens- not forcefully but introspectively.  Just like any other muscle, our creative juices need pumping! I found myself at my desk this morning feeling tired and dejected but with a newfound goal: be consistent with my creative side. This is not a discovery of a new chromosome but it is something I believe people in this dynamic age struggle with materializing. This is a creative age. So whether it is on the subway, grocery store or in a room full of candles and Zen music, engage your mind to its full potential. It doesn't have to be writing. All in all- I am committed. Tapping into my creative edge is not like going to the gym or eating broccoli. I will take baby steps toward letting my inner Socrates/Neruda out.

First Post

I named my blog after Bukowski's poem. 

It is a confessional- of tiny pleasures,imperfections, desires and sorrows. Though on the surface it is a darker, solemn piece, those who appreciate the melancholy of a poetic ramblings will enjoy it as I did. 

You can find the full poem here: One For the Shoeshine Man, but the most poignant imagery, to me, lies in these few lines-

I am bitter sometimes

but the taste has often been

sweet. it’s only that I’ve

feared to say it. it’s like

when your woman says,

“tell me you love me,” and

you can’t.

if you see me grinning from

my blue Volks

running a yellow light

driving straight into the sun

I will be locked in the

arms of a

crazy life

thinking of trapeze artists

of midgets with big cigars

of a Russian winter in the early 40’s

of Chopin with his bag of Polish soil

of an old waitress bringing me an extra

cup of coffee and laughing

as she does so.