and of course it was wrong <br />to label him as that – in just that tone of voice; <br />a touch of envy there, no doubt <br /> <br />implying a comfortable life, <br />a smart careerist, older poets youthfully <br />cultivated, poems in the right magazines, <br />editors gently kept in touch with; <br />keeping on the right side of his peers, <br />'interesting' reviews of their poetry skilfully woven, <br />professional favours quietly exchanged; <br />academic posts gracefully filled, and <br />moved on from; leaving grateful ex-students <br />recommended for the vacancy; <br />and an acquired ability <br />to write just enough, but not less; <br /> <br />so it should be rather, a lifelong devotee of poetry, <br />and when he started to read to us I felt mean <br />for assuming him to be some artificial thing <br />a professional poet; <br /> <br />I wanted to inhabit his poetry, the <br />house of his poetry; but some doors <br />to rooms were open, some were shut; <br />would I give the time to find and love the key? <br /> <br />He read his own poems <br />as if they were step-children – <br />proud to show them off, and yet, not really his; <br />the audience, taken aback by this, <br />hesitated to applaud. <br /> <br />But when he read the poems of others, <br />he read them as though they were miracles <br />to stun and to admire, yet he was, we were, barely worthy of; <br />dropping as fine mercy, as the gentle dew of heaven; he read like <br />an amateur would read the great, in awe; as - <br />a lifelong devotee of poetry. He shone. <br />In each of us, a poet was born and lived.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-professional-poet/
