City of Literature

Two Friends and a Stranger

It’s sometimes said in Buddhism that one should stick with a single tradition for at least seven years before one has decided that it’s “not for them.”

Well, I stuck with Buddhism generic for about that long, although I toggled between Zen and Vajrayana.

It’s definitely for me, as are some aspects of Christianity.

Another thing I tried for seven years: Iowa City.

UNESCO City of Literature, the college town’s letterhead professes. Once, while sitting outside Brewed Awakenings, writing away (with the requisite two or three books of poetry on the table) I was approached by a member of a passing tour for an autograph.

This person didn’t know me. But I was an “Iowa City Writer.”

I was fortunate enough to hit the high school lottery and win two excellent English teachers. One, Joe Albrecht, had his Master’s from UNI. The other, Jonathan Stull, was an MFA grad from the prestigious University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop.

Something was in the water those four years, and Jon assembled a number of we who wrote to form an enthusiastic after-school creative writing workshop of our own.

One of the gifts of this was getting to see poet and workshop professor Marvin Bell on more than one occasion. Bell was one of those rare poets who could interact with his audience on a charmingly personal level — such that when he read his linguistically inventive poems, the pathos was palpable.

I learned a lot from that. And, when I followed a relationship down to Iowa City, I learned a lot about what it means to be a working writer sans university affiliation.

It turns out that (as you probably already suspected) location location location is not of the essence for writing. What’s more important is finding a personal groove so that you can get it done whatever your lifestyle, whatever your employment status or career trajectory.

That was something I might’ve learned by simply reading a few interviews with Bell. But, of course, I had to learn it for myself.

Bell said that a poet only needs three readers: two friends and a stranger.

I have about 40 subscribers to this blog, about 20 of whom open the emails.

By that measure, I’m literally living in writer’s paradise.

Here is a poem by Marvin. He wrote it for his wife, knew it by heart, and would recite it from memory at the end of every reading.

I hope you’re all doing well on this Monday. Keep your eyes open: I’ll be following up with more about the four ways of knowing, and about my newfound psychological well being.

Affectionately,

Aaron