I Am an Old Nobody and I Love What I Do

YouTube player

 

I’m a teacher — a peer of yours,
peering at 60 in my rearview
And I’m stuck.

Teaching is about connecting.
Why can’t I connect?
I’m honest in my work.
I try hard.

What’s wrong? What’s missing?
into the void.
in a circle.
tired of my future

May I please quit?

Hunkering down with my friend Larry yesterday morning.

He’s got a colostomy bag and a foot infection so bad they lopped off a toe.
He wouldn’t ever advise “follow your dreams”.
He would never be picked by Oprah.
Larry would laugh, contagious,
and be pleased to get another wagon of square bales out of the field.

But I’m… scared
By a million terrible doors
Opening all at once.

How will that help?
It won’t.
I must embrace the suck that is me
And must foist
as much of this inner cruft onto the world
as I can
without apology to others anywhere.

I turn over the odd rocks in my heart
I confess that all I want is
to find out what I’m thinking,
to look at what I see
and see what I mean
and what I want
and what I fear

Share that you crazy fuck
and give not one ragged fuck.
It is so much easier to care
about this myself
and draw strength from not caring
whether what happens here amounts to anything
to anyone else.

Less distraction that way, repeating, shadow boxing in my corner:

I AM AN OLD NOBODY AND I LOVE WHAT I DO.
I AM AN OLD NOBODY AND I LOVE WHAT I DO.
I AM AN OLD NOBODY AND I LOVE WHAT I DO.
I AM AN OLD NOBODY AND I LOVE WHAT I DO.

Sounds from Friday morning by Tellio

Stream Sounds from Friday morning by Tellio from desktop or your mobile device

Thanks to Joan Didion and Heather Havrilevsky. I ‘borrowed’ extensively from both without much attribution other than the general one here. Suffice to say: I translated freely.

Didion, Joan. “Why I Write.” Online Magazine. Idiom. N.p., n.d. Web. 18 Sept. 2015.

Havrilevsky, Heather. “Ask Polly: Should I Just Give Up on My Writing? — The Cut.” Online Magazine. New York Magazine. N.p., 16 Sept. 2015. Web. 18 Sept. 2015.

15 Comments


  1. // Reply

    That is a manifesto for nobody.

    It is an act of bravoure for us all.

    Please keep on sharing…

    A drop of sense in an ocean of apathy.

    A drop of art in a frame of alienation.

    All that amounts to much and not a fig.

    A somebody is no good to anyone.

    Who cares for anyone?

    Noone cares for everybody.

    A fellow nobody.


    1. // Reply

      Holy zensationality! As I read your reply I thought of this poem by Ted Hughes about a fox that is both about a fox and not about a fox. Words are sleight of hand. That last stanza always kills me. Well…it doesn’t really kill me but it sorta does kill me, the me that thinks.

      The Thought Fox

      I imagine this midnight moment’s forest:
      Something else is alive
      Beside the clock’s loneliness
      And this blank page where my fingers move.

      Through the window I see no star:
      Something more near
      Though deeper within darkness
      Is entering the loneliness:

      Cold, delicately as the dark snow
      A fox’s nose touches twig, leaf;
      Two eyes serve a movement, that now
      And again now, and now, and now

      Sets neat prints into the snow
      Between trees, and warily a lame
      Shadow lags by stump and in hollow
      Of a body that is bold to come

      Across clearings, an eye,
      A widening deepening greenness,
      Brilliantly, concentratedly,
      Coming about its own business

      Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox
      It enters the dark hole of the head.
      The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
      The page is printed.

      from New Selected Poems 1957- 1994 (Faber, 1995), by permission of the publisher, Faber & Faber Ltd. Recording used by permission of the BBC.

      – See more at: http://www.poetryarchive.org/poem/thought-fox#sthash.LtQmg6EI.dpuf


  2. // Reply

    and i stood near the stream
    tossing pebbles at the bug
    skirting along the surface
    as if i could change its course
    or alter its trajectory but it only
    ignored me
    as i sat down to wonder
    where it is that pebble had gone
    and who was i to toss it in the first place

    — kevin


  3. // Reply

    I come out of my Friday
    feeling it’s all pointless.
    I am a teacher,
    connecting with few,
    looking askance at 52 coming up in my rearview.
    The things that have been said to me this week
    used to seem funny,
    but the verbal assaults now lie on my
    shoulders and weigh me down.
    I am tired.
    I put my heart and soul into this
    but am finding no joy,
    my days strewn with profane and violent words.
    I am a pacifist.
    I draw strength from…
    I do not know.
    The colleagues I love, I guess.
    The friends who support me.
    The sun.
    I want what I do to have meaning.
    Right now I give zero fucks.
    I hope that by Monday
    I will give at least one.


    1. // Reply

      I have read this three times already and, no, you do not have permission to quit. Not even with a “Mother may I?” on top. Need to find you a way to top off the “give a fucks” even if they only amount to revenge. BTW how many ‘give a shits’ are in a ‘give a fuck’ and likewise how many ‘give a damns’ are in a ‘give a shit’? I am assuming that the more profane the giving, the more weight they have. And how many will it take to power up for your week ahead. I think we should work tomorrow on building your progress bars. Perhaps some funny stuff, some acrid stuff, some absurd stuff, and some angry stuff from all of your friends? Perhaps #giveaf***4Susan as our hashtag.


    3. // Reply

      I give a fuck about this. Please help yourself to as many as you need to keep you going. (Yeah, it sounds all wrong) 😉


      1. // Reply

        You are so wrong you’re right. 😉


  4. // Reply

    You all struck a cord with me so here’s my attempt to bring together what I found most meaningful.

    But the verbal assaults now lie on my
    shoulders and weigh me down.
    I am tired.
    I put my heart and soul into this
    but am finding no joy,
    Through the window I see no star:
    Something more near
    Though deeper within darkness
    Is entering the loneliness
    i sat down to wonder
    where it is that pebble had gone
    and who was i to toss it in the first place
    Who cares for anyone?
    Noone cares for everybody.
    A fellow nobody.


    1. // Reply

      I am a fellow nobody–a nemo. I am reminded of Odysseus calling himself ‘no man’ in order to survive Polyphemus. There are so many kinds of suffering. I think the genius of the Buddha is the understanding that the denial of pain is a denial of our own humanity. But it hurts and makes us want to run away. I think you understand this better than most. I am sure as hell not suggesting that pain is something that can be transformed into a good. I don’t believe that. What I do believe is that it is a thing, a thing to be understood. Too bad that the way to that understanding is through it. Damn. Always a freaking hitch.


  5. // Reply

    How do I become a follower of your blog? I can’t find the tab, but maybe I already am one? I don’t get the e-mail notifications, though, so I’m guessing not.


  6. // Reply

    I have thought and thought about this post and a possible response to it all weekend. I’m not much at poetry or even articulate thought, but maybe it will come to me. In the meantime, I am here, reading, thinking, and feeling with you.


    1. // Reply

      I love the thought of you thinking and thinking. There is an adult children’s book in there somewhere barking to get out. Your ‘maybe’ is enough for me. The reading and thinking and feeling along with me? That’s just gravy, baby.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *