PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

August 7th is a particularly significant date for me.  On that day, a Saturday in 1976, Cerulean and I spent the longest amount of time together, from about 6pm the previous evening (interrupted by a few hours for sleeping in our separate residences), and then until 2 or 3am the following morning.  We also made our longest day trip, taking a major interstate to the town where I would be going to college, to drop off my first term's tuition payment.  We also saw our first R-rated film at the drive-in theater that night, and also used our c.b. to discover that his sister and brother-in-law were also in attendance at that same theater, although they had pretended, to us, to have made other plans altogether.  That night of course concluded with the usual components of a large, dine-in pizza, and then a long drive on the rural township roads so we could talk to various people on our c.b.

During our visit to the college town, we also overshot the exit and continued on northward drawing nearer to our state's capitol.  On the c.b., a gentleman by the name of Applejack identified his vehilce ahead of us, and told us to follow him and he would tell us where to exit to visit the college town.  I think I could write an epyllion poem about that day's events.

Those who have followed my poems may be aware that I have struggled, even to old age, with an identity crisis, having gone through life---since I was thirteen actually (and sat at a typewriter attempting to write detective fiction)---using different forms of identification.  My mundane first name was sullied for me first by the way my parents used it, and then later at school by bullies.  Among Japanese artists and poets is a tradition that one uses different names of identification at different stages in one's life.  I believe I am in the final stage of my life.  I will likely not recover fully from this situation (although, two days ago, I walked three steps unaided and without using the walker apparatus).  

The name I will sign to my poetry going forward is j-called.  There are far more levels of meaning to this seemingly simple form than to Starward, much as I love both Starward and its former version, Starwatcher.  But they were appellations of exclusion:  they protected me from aspects of my life that hurt me.  I now know that some very salutary aspects of my life can be "stacked" (if you will allow me the metaphor) or "packed" into the name, j-called, and I will begin using it going forward.

Starward

nka

j-called