Profession: Poet
January 5, 2021
Profession: Poet is a new monthly blog feature exploring craft and identity in poetry by Hanoch Guy, who writes poems in both English and Hebrew.
Welcome to my first poetry blog entry. Thank you for reading. What I am going to share with you here is personal, and I hope what I write will evoke a lively back and forth between us.
When I am making small talk with somebody I have just met, and they ask what I do, I respond: “I am a poet.” Usually, people just say, “Oh,” or they laugh or shrug, waiting for me to say something else.
Why do I say I am a poet?
It is my need to be precise. As others do, I could say I am a writer or an author, but that does not satisfy my need for precision.
To answer that I am an author or writer may lead to more conversation-making questions or an interesting discussion. In stating that I am a poet, I affirm my being.
Sometimes, people ask what kind of poetry I write, and I doubt, though I am a professional poet and I devote most of my time to the different aspects of a poetic career, whether they are interested or if I can deliver the goods in one sentence.
What I have learned for myself, over a long interval of time, is that poetry is more like a high-risk investment rather than a steady money-making enterprise. I intend in the future to develop the monetary aspect of being a poet.
I realized that poetry, and being a poet, is much more than my profession. It is an integral and essential part of my whole being. It is my alter-ego.
It is my twin in the mirror who reflects at different times different aspects of myself.
Without poetry I am lacking something essential for my soul, its raison d'etre.
Let me tell you how poetry became integral and indispensable to my life. When I was twelve years old in Israel, our English teacher introduced us to a few poems. Listening to Shakespeare and Goethe, I felt something stir in me. I did not understand a word of German, but Goethe’s poem moved me.
Throughout my adolescence, its numbness and depression, I was disinterested and bored in school, but I made an effort to keep up with English and Hebrew literature. A vague feeling grew in me that I wanted to write. I was not sure of how to and of what to write about, but I filled notebooks with rambling writings.
I was lucky and grateful that a high school teacher met with me every weekend and, without judging what I wrote, encouraged me to continue writing. Throughout these high school years, I wrote poetry almost without any editing. A farmer across the road was an avid reader and bought stacks of books for me. Every book that he finished reading, he would give to me to read. We would discuss each book after I finished it. I was introduced to Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Turgenev, Flaubert, Stendhal, and others in Hebrew translation. I started reading the romantic poets, Shelley, Byron, and Wordsworth, also in Hebrew translation.
By the time I came to Jerusalem to get my degree in literature, poetry had grown in me to become more and more demanding of my time and concentration. During this time, the work and challenges of a heavy course load, as well as a full-time job and my loneliness, the life of poetry and writing grew within my inner being; it comforted and affirmed me.
I tried to publish by first sending out a few poems that were rejected, and on two occasions my own person was rejected when I was thrown out of editors' offices. Once, I was upset because the literary magazine Akhshav (Now) rejected my submission, and I rushed to the editor’s office on Allenby Street in Jerusalem. It was raining hard. I opened the door and a short man with thick glasses barked, “What do you want?”. I explained. He screamed, “Get out! You’re dripping on the floor!”.
In January 1970, something changed in my poetry writing when I was at a friend’s home. I went to the bathroom, sat on the floor, and wrote a poem in English with a red crayon.
A decade followed of writing mainly in English, of submitting poems and, with a few exceptions, of having them rejected. But now I had within me a twin being of Hebrew and English poetry, each one independent, distinct, and demanding to be nurtured and cultivated. Then I experienced a long period of silence in which I was aware of my twins but was unable to take care of and respond to them because of my decision to try a new career, teaching full-time. I was so occupied and exhausted by my two parallel careers, poetry was repressed, and I felt I was unable to write or even read poetry.
I was not able to write at all.
It was fifteen years until I was able to return to my poetry-twins with more devotion, commitment, and concentration than ever. I had decided to end working as a wellness consultant, and I felt much lighter. My return to poetry was easy, joyful, and brought the warmth of coming home.
I’d like to end by offering a haiku from my book, A Hawk in Midflight, which can be purchased here.
Poetry is the
shortest distance
between tears
Hanoch Guy Ph.D, Ed.D spent his childhood and youth in Israel. He is a bilingual poet in Hebrew and English. Hanoch has taught Jewish Hebrew literature at Temple University and poetry and mentoring at the Muse House Center. He won awards in the Mad Poets Society, Phila Poets, Poetry Super Highway and first prize in the Better than Starbucks haiku contest. His book, Terra Treblinka, is a finalist in the North Book Contest. Hanoch published poems in England, Wales, Israel, the U.S., and Greece. He is the author of nine poetry collections in English and one Hebrew book.