Common Ground

Common Ground

Are you like me?

You want to be...more

but you can't find

     the voice

     the words

that fit the desire?

Do you find yourself

     awake

     listening

in the morning hours

when no one is up

     but you

And there are characters

crying out

     for space

     and time

to be real?

Do you reflect

alone in the dark

on memories

wishing
to preserve forever
     in lines
     and paragraphs
the events of your life?


Are you afraid
no one will understand?
     Me too...


I write a lot of poems about writing and writers. Down through the years, in workshops I have conducted and groups I have been a part of, I find many writers are afraid to put their work out there for the public to see. I guess there are many reasons for that: fear of rejection, worry that no one will understand what they are saying or simply their writer's self esteem is low. All of these are legimate reasons, we are all hesitant about those things.


It took me a long time to realize how many writers were like me and it took me even longer to convince many of my writer friends that their work is just as good as the next one's. Why is that? Anything written from the heart, written with the intent of preserving in words the days of thier life, is worth sharing. It amazes me how many people come to me and say, "It almost seems that you looked into my heart when you wrote this poem". We are never alone in our suffering or our joy. Others have experienced the same emotions we have. The only difference is, as writers, we put it down it words and are in many ways obligated to share it so we can help others know they are not alone.


Common Ground was written for one of those writers I came across in a writing workshop weekend led by Ed McClanahan many years ago. I cannot remember her name, but we were talking while getting a cup of coffee and she said she was afraid no one would understand her work. I wrote this poem in response to that conversation. I never had the chance to give it to her because the poem was written at home after that weekend. Maybe someday she will run across Scraps and realize the poem was written for her.


Are you afraid? Don't be. Writers want to read what you have written, readers need to read what you have written. Share it and share it with pride and confidence. Let me hear your story of fear. Have you overcome that fear, tell me how you did it. If you haven't let's talk.


I love writers and I want to share with you.

I want to hear from you. Tell me your process. Ask me questions. Tell me what you like or dislike about any of these poems.

The Song That Calls Us Home

The Song That Calls Us Home

(for Bobbie Ann Mason)

My old Kentucky home
the place I've run from
most of my life
the place friends left
to find a better way
the place hearts long for
on cloudy days.


Kentuckians have stood
in the canyons of New York City
gazed at snow capped peaks
of reflected light
on jagged skyline
looked to skyscrapers
pointing out the new frontier.


We've been absorbed in the crowd
     of Mardi Gras
stumbled through the streets of
     bottles, booze and boudoirs
watched bare breasts
bounce to the rhythm of Jazz.
Yet
any place we go
Kentuckians are lost
          homesick
          restless
to return.


Some deny it
swear to never go back
but
     somewhere
hidden by tall Bluegrass
or green tobacco
there is a tombstone
reserved for them
where family and friends
are buried in deep fertile soil.


And, those of us
     who've come home
     who've seen bright city lights
     who've heard the quiet of desert sand
     who've smelt the smog of L.A.
     who've smoked dope
and slept in the arms of whores,
we know.

Those of us
who've seen the Rhine
          the Tames
          and the Dead Sea...
Those of us
who've crossed oceans
to be shot at
and to shoot back

Those of us who've cried
          and laughed
          and groaned
with strangers everywhere,
we know.


We know
in the end
by no real choice of our own
we come back.
We come back because
we hear the song.

The song that calls us home.
Tony Sexton

Some years ago Bobbie Ann Mason wrote a piece for The New Yorker about the song, My Old Kentucky Home and it was the inspiration for this poem. As I read the article, I realized there was a unique thing about Kentucky. It's sort of like the Eagle's song, Hotel California, we can check out but we can never really leave.

I once interviewed several Kentucky authors to see if I could find a common thread among them and the reason for thier success. Bobbie Ann was one of those authors. And, what I found out was, each of these authors had a professor at UK named Robert Hazel. He was  not the greatest teacher any of them had, but his idea was you have to go to places like New York or LA in order to find success. And that is what each of them did, only to find this philosophy was flawed. They were not so much homesick as they were misplaced. One, Ed McClanahan, did not see any success until he and Wendel Berry visited an old, falling down theater where Ed once worked as a ticket taker. As they sat in that theater with the roof half missing, Wendel pointed out a finch that lit on one of the rafters. They discussed it and Ed went home and rewrote, The Natural Man which has become a classic among Kentucky literature. All the time Ed was away from Kentucky he held a bitterness about where he grew up but after the conversation with Wendel, he realized, Kentucky was his home. In a sense, I suppose he finally heard the song that called him home. Of course, Ed has gone on to write many wonderful, funny and pointed books that reflect life in Kentucky.

So this poem reflects my feelings about Kentucky and the knowledge that there is something about a person home whether it be Kentucky or some other state that gives them a foundation for the rest of their life. For so many of us, we do have to go home again to find our place in life.

You will find references to the war, Viet Nam, and to places I have never been. But, my friends have been to those places and they have related thier feelings of loss while living there. Of course, this is not the case for every Kentuckian because there are those who have left and while they often return, they do not feel the need to come back to live. However, in the end, even those will always remember and be influnced by their life in Kentucky.

Are you a Kentuckian? Have you gone away and returned home? I would like to hear your story. Write to me. And, I would love to know what you think of this blog, the idea and purpose.
See you next time.
Tony






I want to hear from you. Tell me your process. Ask me questions. Tell me what you like or dislike about any of these poems.

Introduction

Welcome to what I hope becomes an inspiration to all who stop by and me.

A few months ago I released a book called Scraps and I hope after reading a few of these blogs you will get a better understanding of the poems included in the book and the writer.

What I intend to do is pick a poem at random and write about it. When I wrote it, why I wrote it and maybe even what I intended for you to get from it. However, I won't always do that because I want you to decide for yourself what the intent was. If I have done my job, you will have some emotional reaction to each one. Maybe it will be happiness, saddness or sometimes even anger. But, if you have no emotional reaction, then, I have failed.

The book is called Scraps because it has  no theme. Many of the poems go together but were actually just picked up from a pile and put in the book. Some you will see in future books and some will stand alone in this one book.

If you are interested in buying the book it can be found on Amazon... what can't be found on Amazon? But that is a subject for a completely different blog someday.

So, beginning tomorrow or very soon we will look at poetry and maybe share some thoughts on the whole process of writing.

I look forward to seeing you often









Iwant to hear from you. Tell me your process. Ask me questions. Tell me what you like or dislike about any of these poems.