Revisionist

I am looking at previous poems.  It is fun to read words written and recollect their place in my body and mind.  Some poems get a little tweaking as I collect them with companions for a manuscript – change the title, shorten a line to fit a publication page size.  Some verses get an all-done stamp and remain unchanged.  I am a currently a poet revisionist.

Dictionary.com defines the common noun revisionist.
1.  an advocate of revision, especially of some political or religious doctrine.
2.  a reviser.
3.  any advocate of doctrines, theories, or practices that depart from established authority or doctrine.

My older poems sometimes feel like lessons I needed.  I’ve heard it said that mantras passed from ancient teachers to students were expected to reveal their meaning over time to the pupil.  What a beautiful concept with a requisite for patience.  Poetry can be that kind of hymn as well, opening itself over time after having been written or read.

I read The Heart of Yoga by T.K.V. Desikachar several months ago.  I recorded notes in my journal that I wanted to study further.  One such note, a quote from The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, reads “True freedom is a state in which our actions do not bring repentance or regret.”  Initially I thought, “Awesome. If I meditate enough and become so present in the present I will make no mistakes and have no misgivings because I will be totally rocking the Now.”  Time has passed since that indulgent thought.   My revisionist thought today says, “Mistake-free living?  Probably not.” 

Take this morning.  I awoke to George Michael singing “Freedom ‘90” (thank you iPhone alarm clock).  I listlessly lay there and listened.  I lamented staying up late and asserted that if I could try Sunday night again I would sleep sooner and avoid feeling tired.  I listened.

It occurred to me while the teen-throb hottie of the 1990’s crooned his tune that misgiving-free living is rather unlikely.  Perhaps freedom could also be letting go of yesterday so fully that is doesn’t leak into today.  After making amends where possible understand the past’s unchangeable nature and release yesterday with its mistakes.  There is not time travel for the revisionist no matter how much pondering is proffered.  Stewing and wishing and wondering just distract us from today.  As I look back at past poems I offer them to myself new and sometimes scrap one that doesn’t sound right anymore.

Reviser

Supplant chapters that hurt as life offered and ate them

sour spears stomach swallowed, slicing clean in two

holy half that is not and half that is you, wishing

Wishing some things simply weren’t true will not aid

the drink you made of sour grapes and shared

your blood then and now, wondering

Wondering if beings could have been different, better

deliberation of long ago letter wastes today’s time

true libation in the current cup.  Drink.