My Creation Myth

Posted: February 1, 2010 in Poetry
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Since I posted the link to Amazon’s blog that may have started the firestorm, I think it only fair that I post it again now, since she has edited her post to clarify and apologize for the problems she unintentionally kicked off. Amazon Syren at ‘Most Curious Thing’.

CONTEXT: December, 2006

Back when I did the Dusty Owl Object of Desire competition for the Spoon Rest, I kind of liked the hook and decided to write a more ‘serious’ version of the poem.

I don’t remember where I first performed this, but it didn’t go over as well as I had hoped. I think I flubbed it. Then it got ignored (by me).
Just recently, however, I read it at a Recipe feature out in Almonte at a LiPS slam. I added a little intro to it that made it a bit better, I think. I am going to include it here. The original version starts with “In the beginning…”

    My Creation Myth

Our reading tonight
Comes from the first gospels of Rusty

In the beginning there was an idea
Or the germ of an idea
A concept, a nagging thought
Or maybe a hook
Something that could be a poem
Or wants to be a poem
Or IS a poem yet unformed
And the desire to create is upon me
And I see that it is good.

On the second day there are words
Turning concepts tangible
From Air to Water to Earth
And hopefully Fire before going back to the Void.
Words tumble over each other
Forcing perception into meaning
Until they form prose.

On the third and fourth days
Come the rhythm and the rhyme
As the words fall into place
Into a pleasing shape
More palatable for the mind.
My body feels the beat
Of the words on the street
As prose becomes poetry
And craft becomes artistry
The poem flows from the pen
(Can I get an amen?)
But creation is not yet complete.

On the fifth day
I learn the way to Carnegie Hall.
I go over the words
First memorize then learn
Gestures, movement, speech
Disparate parts of the whole
Until the poem no longer exists on paper
It lives in my head until ready to be shared
On the sixth day.

This is C-Day
Collaboration Day
Poetry ceases to be a solo affair.
There is me. A mic. A stage. A crowd.
The poem is released from its prison
And unleashed upon the ears of the audience.
The words enter and are trasformed
Each is altered by the one listening
Until the poem has become ten poems
Twenty poems, forty poems, more.

And on the seventh day, I rest
Until there is an idea
Or the germ of an idea
A concept, a nagging thought
Or maybe a hook.
Something that could be a poem.

“““““““““““““““

Next up is a poem/song I wrote for my friend Rob.

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Comments
  1. nadinethornhill says:

    I always enjoy meta-poems. I have yet to unearth the verse of my own creation myth.

  2. Bart says:

    Awesome poem. I’m very much enjoying the ongoing gospel of Rusty.

    I think you may have inadvertantly broken Amazon. :o)

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