Dazzling Impermanence
When I pause for a moment of poetic reflection. I’m reminded of the following lines in Charles Wright’s poem Lonesome Pine Special.
“It’s true, I think, as Kenko says in his Idleness,
All beauty depends upon disappearance,
The bitten edges of things,
the gradual sliding away
Into tissue and memory,
the uncertainty
And dazzling impermanence of days we beg our meanings from,
And their frayed loveliness.”
When you consider the dazzling impermanence of each day's frayed loveliness, the weight becomes easier and more comfortable, don't you think?
As for comfort and ease, I recently asked the master river guide and storyteller Cisco Guevara to tell me something nobody tells you about river rafting.
He said, "the easy stuff, the mellow stuff, is just as rewarding as the hard stuff." Click HERE for Cisco's two-minute story on rafting the easy stuff.
You may recall in my last email, I wrote about the dragonflies of Twice 5 Miles Publishing, which is the project Allegra Huston, Alex Alford, and I have been working on since last summer. Our two books, HOW TO READ FOR AN AUDIENCE and HOW TO EDIT AND BE EDITED, are doing well; plus, we have other books on the way.
This spring, we're making a significant effort to get our books in the hands of as many people as possible.
With that in mind, I've included an essay from How to Read for an Audience titled What Makes a Good Reading? The short answer is be yourself.
If you like what you read, click HERE to learn more about our books, and please recommend them to your friends. Thanks in advance for all your help.
WHAT MAKES A GOOD READING?
Too many writers read in public the way they'd read in private, just saying the words aloud. To engage an audience, you must convey what's strong about your writing: the intensity of the emotion, the beauty of the words and images, the drama of the narrative.
Feelings are transactional. If you feel, your audience will too. The best way to make this happen is to be yourself—and share that self with your audience.
The poet Ocean Vuong, whose book Night Sky with Exit Wounds won the T. S. Eliot Prize for Poetry in 2016, is an excellent example of a writer who is comfortable being himself on stage.
There's nothing histrionic about Ocean. He's soft-spoken, unassuming. When he reads, you feel like he's telling you, and only you, one of his most precious secrets.
When I first met Ocean a few years ago, he was only 21 and just starting out. I was at Bar 13 in Manhattan, at a Monday night reading called Louder Arts.
When Ocean was introduced, he walked slowly to the stage with a small chapbook in his hand. When he stepped in front of the microphone, he said, "Thank you for allowing me to read. I appreciate it."
Ocean opened his chapbook, looked out, smiled and began. It was instantly obvious that he was reading from a place deep inside himself. He only read for five minutes. He got a standing ovation.
Like with Ocean, your interior connection will give rise to gestures, facial expressions, and variations in your voice, but because they arise naturally, they will be authentic—true to you, true to your material.
As you may know, last fall Ocean Vuong won the MacArthur genius award for poetry. Go HERE to watch a short video of Ocean talking about the power of awe and wonder.
Well, that's it for now. Please do send your news.
Oh, one more thing, if you would like to explore working with me on your projects like public speaking, writing your book, producing and marketing a workshop, click HERE to email me. I’ll get right back to you and we can set up a time to talk. Your first session is always free.
Best,
Navé
GOING
Here's to the departed, the gone too soon, the no more, the remembered, the forgotten, the stories of yesterday's places, a minute ago, the past, the permanence, the impermanence, the fish that got away, Monday's child, the untouched face, love gained, lost, found, rivers to the sea, your fat chance, your win, your loss, your gain, the sunlight on roofs near the harbor, the boats bobbing on the tide, the coming, the going.
—James Navé
