#guestpost: Why Writing Poetry is Valuable | Matt Nagin (@mnagin)

When I was 16, I wrote tons of poems. I must have filled up fifty notebooks with random scribblings. One day, completely entranced by my new hobby, I told my mother I wanted to be a writer. She was less than pleased. She goes, ‘Oh Matthew! Become a doctor and you can write prescriptions!’

I still write poems today, at 42 years old. Some say I have a bit of a Peter Pan Complex. I still live in a bachelor pad, I’m unmarried, no kids, still have many of the same habits I developed as a teen. This may be accurate. Not sure. But what I do know is that all these years of writing poetry have been valuable.

Poetry taught me to write better. To trust my voice. To listen. To hear. Poetry made writing fun for me. It filled me with a sense of possibility. It also taught me that the most important rule is to be willing to break them all.

A good poet can write cover letters, novels, screenplays, resumes, grant applications, graduate admissions essays, blog articles, contracts, advertising copy, speeches, you name it. It is insanely valuable. Ok. It’s not being a doctor. But it can enrich your life and help you succeed in a wide range of careers.

Am I sometimes disappointed in book sales? Definitely. But just because my newest book, ‘Feast of Sapphires,’ isn’t a best-seller, doesn’t mean I’m not glad I wrote it.

I’m an actor too. Many of the parts I’ve played, on television for example, have reached millions of homes. Still, if only a handful of people read my poems, it’s more rewarding to me. Because this is something I feel intrinsically connected to, something that feels necessary. I wouldn’t be happy without it.

So, no, you can’t trade poetry on the NYSE (Symbol: PTRY). Venture capitalists aren’t squabbling over every last stanza. Nor is Netflix paying billions to have poets read their work at The Beacon Theater. Still, poetry is insanely valuable. It can save your life. In certain ways, at least, it saved mine.

---

Matt Nagin is a writer, educator, filmmaker, and standup comedian. His poetry has been published in Antigonish Review, Oxford Magazine and The East Bay Review. Kirkus Reviews deemed his first poetry collection, ‘Butterflies Lost Within The Crooked Moonlight,’ ‘powerful verse from a writer of real talent.’ His second collection, ‘Feast of Sapphires,’ reached #12 on the Amazon Best Seller List. Matt has performed standup in seven countries, and acted in numerous film and tv productions. His first short film, Inside Job, won acting and directing awards on the festival circuit. More at mattnagin.com

Shadows

Walau sekalipun ku berjalan

She's standing 

between light and dark 

life and death 

truth and lies--

Yet she's pushing forward, 

striving, always striving, 

remembering that 

the enemy's gate is down 

Dalam lembah yang kelam

It's harder than it seems 

wavering between 

progress and regress 

entrance and egress

and sometimes--most times--

both look the same. 

It's inertia

paralysis

a stuttering

a stopping

a void

Ku tak takut kar’na Kau besertaku

But depression is depression even if you're functional 

because you're high functioning until you're not

Yea, though I walk

And when you break 

breakdown

into tiny pieces

your head says you must move

but your body says you can't

and your spirit says you should

you have the power of the Holy Spirit

but your flesh is stronger

so much stronger 

than your will

so you stray

Through the valley of the shadow of death

You are a dichotomy of the
heart that knows it's wandering
and the mind that holds on to Truth;
the soul that's lost and hurting
and the spirit--
     the spirit is at war with itself

I will fear no evil

And the enemy's gate is down
So you will crush them under your feet
once you find where your feet are
and how gravity works
and where the rock on which you stand stands
but only if you will let go
let go of all that binds you
in passion and in want
in desire and in lust
for the things you do not have
cannot have
maybe will never have
because that is how it is
and maybe you will find once you stop looking--
    although you know that that is not true

For Thou art with me

Between light and dark
life and death
She stands
Neither choosing one nor the other
Because all she sees is a shimmering grey
Nebulous
Formless
And sometimes it is enough
Just to trust.

Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me

---

In lieu of a #fridayflash, here's a... strange #poem? #throwback

I was looking for a pastel yellow slightly-smaller-than-A5 MGS co-op notepad with Forever Friends printed on it, which contains notes I remember writing for a Christmas exhibition/thing I once wanted to do that sounds very like what is being proposed for this year's Christmas thing, but I found this instead.

As far as I can tell, there were two brothers - Sean and Jordan - and Sean is writing about Jordan's cat, but I... have no idea what it was about. Or who they are. I remember writing a Jordan Dastream once, but WHO IS SEAN???? And why doesn't the last line rhyme? What was I doing? Why was I writing on exam paper? If I'm writing on exam paper, it's probably from... 1999? (Well, anytime from between 1998 - 2001, but likely 1999 because in 2000 - 2001, I was writing in a notebook.)

At any rate, if I can't find that notepad, I will probably have to reconceptualise everything. Boo.

In Memoriam

if glue could hold this family together

He used to sell glue - the kind that came in the little wide-bottomed plastic bottles with the stick fixed to the centre of the screw-on lid to spread it with. The kind that dried up on your fingers and you would spend several minutes carefully peeling off to look at your fingerprints. The kind with that nice glue smell that maybe made you a little high.

like their own words tear it apart
There was paper in his shop as well, the normal kind and the coloured kind for arts and crafts. They came in pink and red and green and blue and were not quite cardboard and not quite paper - some quaint in-between. They were great for random cards made in the middle of the night. Not so great for staying anonymous since they weren't easily found.

if love grew in silent spaces
And maybe that's where her love of stationery grew, on random visits to his stationery shop, few and far between, but filled with paper, glue and love. There was the quiet bustle of people at work, the clack of the calculator, the hum of the air-conditioning and the hiss of a fresh pot brought to boil for tea. And the comfortable silence of people who did not need to fill the empty spaces.

like you fill up a shopping cart

There was the corner coffee shop where he had his breakfast every day until the proprietor knew him and still asked after him years after he had moved away. She wondered if the coffee shop man had seen the obituary in the papers and maybe shed a little tear for a long time customer. Or maybe he too had passed on, contemporaries coming to the end of this temporary life.

then there'd be less whatsapp wars

He didn't like to complain. Why should he, when they weren't listening? Instead he grunted his displeasure, mumbling to himself, but tolerating them anyway, because - he wasn't sure why. Was it because they spoke over him because they loved and worried over him? Was it because he was too tired to argue any more? What were words but finely sharpened daggers?

on who's wrong and who is right

There was nothing left for her to say as she sat by his bedside, watching his belaboured breathing. It wasn't as if she had said much in his lifetime either, that she should say much at his end. But she reached over and held his hand, wondering if his half open eyes knew what he was seeing or if he was already too far gone to know she'd come. 

and maybe we'd hold together long enough

And maybe it was enough, if ever anything could be enough, that she had been present. That she'd allowed them to wash over her with the strength of their emotions, battering the gates she'd long erected in her heart. And as they release their memories into the night she remembered too, fixing in her heart and mind the man he'd been, hoarding what she could before time wrest it away. 

to survive the long dark night

There was joy in the morning - bittersweet but joy nonetheless. There was the ache of a semicolon in an unending line of praise; a pause in the lifespan of a soul. There was the pain of parting, where the physical took its rest and the spirit was released. But there is the laughter of the saints in the moment of reunion, when all that was meets all that is and looks forward to all that is to come. 

---

Behold, I tell you a mystery: We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed — in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. So when this corruptible has put on incorruption, and this mortal has put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written: “Death is swallowed up in victory.”

“O Death, where is your sting?

O Hades, where is your victory?”

The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your labour is not in vain in the Lord.

1 Corinthians 15:51-58

Goodbyes

I hate that we make all the right noises
to say goodbye
But our hearts never really let go -
no, not while

Our words fly across our screens
big or small
And there's always a chance to see you
on my wall

And I really don't know what to feel
inside anymore
When everything's changing right down
to the core

So we make the right sounds as we
say our goodbyes
But we'll never really ever completely
break our ties.

Lunch time poetry

My heart isn't here anymore
She said
I drift
Unanchored to reality
Untethered to this life
My heart
Tastes the sweetness of
A song I never wrote
Of a poem I never read
A line I can't grasp
The meaning of
Slips
Slips away
But I was never here
She said
My heart isn't here anymore

Maybe it never was

Beauty

You are beauty
In the brokenness
    Held together
By cellophane tape
And raffia string
    Keeping back
The tears that
Tear you apart

Broken
But not irreparably so

#30to30: Day 23 - Airport Poetry

Six in the morning
Touched down, bleary eyed
In search of a place to rest

Seven in the morning
Warmed by hot tea
Looking for something to see

Eight in the morning
Missing the people
Who're hanging out for bubble tea

Nine in the morning
Writing this post
Thinking of going back to sleep.

---

Thank you for reading my lame attempt at "poetry". My better attempts were in those angsty college days, full of rhymes and rhythms and, I dunno, hidden meanings. I guess simplicity works for me these days.

I am in transit home, sitting in the HK Airport, being too lazy to either go out to town or go shopping in the airport. I have my laptop, free wifi, two books, an ipad and a kindle. I don't think I'll get bored.
I suppose I'll take a nap before looking for lunch.

Fragments: I am Thine; #Easter #poetry

---

O, whither dost thou wander, treacherous heart of mine?
O, whither wilt thou go, how far and for how long a time?
How long wilt thou cry for relief no man can give
While running far and fast from the only true reprieve?

---

And my heart breaks
Again and again and again
Because I don't know where I'm going
Although I do.
And I know I must die to live again
But I am afraid of death
I am afraid of giving up the things that mean the world to me
But are not
I am afraid that once I let you go,
I will be bereft forever.
But I know that my heartsong sings
In words that only one can understand
That in the silences are the beats of his heart
And in the noise is the strength of his hands
And in my chaos is his peace.

---

O death, where is thy victory?
O grave, where is thy sting?

---

You call to me, like an insistent lover
Telling me over and over
I am yours, you are mine
I am yours, you are mine

You pull me close, and I lean my head on your breast
Listening to your heartbeat
Close to mine
Oh, so close to mine

And when I close my eyes, all I can hear
Is a heart that beats for me
But I am out of sync,
Drawn away

By the dragon's flight, by the wings that beat
By the splendour and pomp this world brings
By the words that tumble through my head
Until I realise -

That you are Eldest,
Wisest amongst the Wise
The First and Only,
The Creator of all,
In your eyes are the Fires of Creation
On your lips, the Word of Life
The Binding Word that holds all things.

You are Eru Iluvatar and Aslan:
The first, the Creator, the uncreated one.
You are the Ancient Tongue and the Words of Power
For when you speak, all things are made, all things are revealed.
You are Aragorn and Belgarion,
The promised, the hoped for, the messiah.
And when I frame you in the worlds that I live in
I understand you a little better than before.

And my heart again falls into step
Closer, but not quite,
Prone to starts and stops
As fears take me and release me
And I cry out
But the wind steals my breath, carrying away my words
And there is nothing but clamour
Yet underneath it all, that steady beat
That draws me, draws me nearer
With a song that resonates with mine
Until we are lifted in flight
And all we know is that

I am Yours and You are mine
I am Yours and You are mine
I am Yours

---

Oh whither dost thou wander, fickle heart of mine?
To the garden of thy lover, where thy fate will twine
With his ever deeper as he bids you come
Behold the place where he cried, "It is done!"

And in thy faithlessness he speaks
"I have come to strengthen the bones that are weak
And you have nothing left to fear
For all your thoughts to me are dear."

2013: a year in review

I suppose I need to wrap up the year somehow.

Work life

A major milestone of the year, I suppose, would be that I completed 7 years with KPMG... and left. (Read my farewell post here.) Clearing off the backlog and cleaning up the table was an accomplishment in itself!

A feat only accomplished once in a lifetime...

Writing life


It's nice to close the year with a new book on the shelves and to know it's been doing quite well, all on its own. Okay, I shouldn't say "new book" as if I've been doing this regularly - Love in Penang is the first book I've published with Fixi Novo. If you count my self-published ebook Stories from A Place to Call Home from 2012, this is my second book released to the world!

Had a lovely surprise walking into Borders in Queensbay Mall last night and seeing it placed at number 8 on the list of top 10 fiction.
Based on Kinokuniya's weekly bestseller list (see pic on the left), Love in Penang is ranked at number 2 for the week. I don't know how long it's going to stay there but I hope it hangs on for a long while!

If you need a little help deciding on whether to get this (it's only RM19.90!) read these really lovely reviews from one of our writers, Fadz:
The generic version
The detailed version

Obligatory self promotion: You can buy Love in Penang from Fixi, Kinokuniya, MPH and Amazon.

If you've already read it, could you be so lovely as to write a review and post it on MPH, Amazon and Goodreads?

Other stuff that featured in my writing life was a rather dismal A to Z challenge offering as compared to a shiny new rather confused novel during Nanowrimo.

Blog life
I've become a little more inconsistent in blogging, what with work life and writing life going all sorts of ways, but it still amazes me that people. actually. read. my. blog.

Look at those numbers! There was a high of 7,561 views in May - how did THAT happen? The screen shot below is last year's statistics for comparison (post here).

Looking through my posts, it seems that I did more book review/tour posts than anything else in 2013. Number of posts have dropped from 134 in 2012 to 125 in 2013. I'm not sure why. Probably because I was so busy/distracted/confused. I think I should start blogging more regularly about more regular stuff, if that makes any sense.

Other stuff
I suppose if you're on facebook, you could look at my year in review there as well.
I had a great year-end trip to Melbourne and Tasmania (which was why I blogged less as well) and I'm still recovering from post-trip blues, trying to catch up with all the stuff I missed back here in Penang as well as trying to get ready for the new year.

I was probably a lot more organised in last year's posts... but well... I don't think I had so many year end events. Or at least I don't remember that I did.

Anyway, happy 2014!

Stressed poetry

On the verge
Of wordless tears
Waiting to squeeze
Out in shudders

Days like these
I hate myself
Hate you
Hate everyone

Yet still looking
For that one green dot
To know you're awake
Though all I'd do is bitch
If I open my mouth

Why is this worth it again?