A New Romanticism: The Collected Poetry Volume Two

By ANDREW CHAVEZ

Andrew Chavez provides a large representative sampling of the poetry that is part of his exploratory journey leading to the final development of his perspective called a new romanticism. Chavez turned to poetry because of intense revelatory experiences; those same revelations guide and direct his work. A reader is allowed an opportunity to follow the ups and downs, the misdirections, errors, and pitfalls that were part of the unique process of discovery. The poetry strives to be as direct, clear, and brief as possible. Chavez believes that a thinking mind with something to say has a natural melody to those expressions. The job of the poet is to say what needs to be said then stop. There is no law of poetry guiding length. A poem should be as long, or short, as necessary to say, tell, or show whatever needs to be said, told, or shown.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 31, 2011
• ISBN: 9781467043816

ANDREW CHAVEZ

Andrew Chavez began his career with poetry because he started having intense revelatory experiences showing him a truth and beauty never seen or experienced before. Despite having no formal training with poetry, he had been a student of the social sciences, Chavez adopted the language of poetry to explore the nature of the revelations he was having while also allowing nature to teach him how to observe, what to observe, and how to express himself in a fitting manner. Revelations are always part of Chavez's world. What are they? Where do they come from? What are they all about? Chavez turned his back on the road leading to the title of professional or academic poet. He made his life's goal the discovery of how those intense revelations fit into the whole process of life and living. Rarely does a poet decide to put all else aside for the sake of truth and beauty. Chavez has done that and allows a reader to see what the whole journey is like. The author has been writing poetry for over thirty years. He has a Master's degree in English from Kansas State University and is the author of: A New Romanticism: Essays And Poems (2000), A New Romanticism: Updated And Revised (2006), Shanidar Cave (2008), A Modern Romantic Odyssey (2008), Three Verse Plays (2008), and The Expanded Version Of A New Romanticism (2008).

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© 2011 by Andrew Chavez. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 10/24/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4670-4390-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-4383-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-4381-6 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011917978

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

PREFACE

J74

GOODNESS, HOW TIRED

IT SEEMS THAT NEVER

HAS A MAN LOVED

WHEN I WALK INTO

THIS TERRITORY

IN BROOKVILLE

I WAS WORKING AND LIVING IN COFFEYVILLE

TONIGHT I WENT TO A RODEO

LET ME PLUNGE

IT’S THIS

MY DAYS ARE MOSTLY DULL

WALKING THE STREETS

OF MANHATTAN

I QUESTION MYSELF

TO WALK, STROLL, OR ROAM ABOUT

I HAD THOUGHT THAT I WAS SINGING

LOOKING BACK ON THE ROAD

I’LL FLOOD MY SONGS

EVERYTHING GROWS TO AND WITHIN

WITH A LONG AND LUSTY

PERHAPS AMONG THE THINGS

CLOSE THE DOOR

IRRIGATION PUMP WITHOUT

A MUFFLER

I’VE OFTEN BEEN IN THIS SETTING

THEY ARE MORE OFTEN HEARD

IT’S WITH CARE

TREMORS OF A DIFFERENT NATURE

THE SIGNS WERE CLEAR

I SHOULD ASK PARDON

FAREWELL CAUTION

IT ISN’T THE UNITED STATES

HOWLINGS, RAILINGS, AND CURSES

OVERWHELMED AND OVERWROUGHT

THE GRAIN ELEVATOR

J75

I TAKE FOR MY SPEECH

1993 COFFEYVILLE, KANSAS

YOU SEE THEM

IT’S NIGHT

THE TALK IN COFFEYVILLE

REBELLING STUDENT

FIRST IMPRESSION OF COFFEYVILLE

J76

IF SOMEONE WERE TO ASK ME

I SAW A MAN TODAY

BUT ONE STEP BEHIND ME

I DROVE TO A CONVENIENCE STORE

TWO DOGS NEXT DOOR

I WANT MY LIFE BACK

J77

IT TAKES A MOMENT LIKE THIS

I WAS ON MY WAY TO COFFEYVILLE

ERRANT THOUGH I MAY SEEM

IT’S ODD

J78-J79

EVERY HOUSE STARTS OUT NEW

PONCI, MY OLDEST BROTHER

IT HAS BEEN MY WISH

J80

RIVER, FULL OF WATER

IF THERE WAS BUT ONE MORE SONG

TERRI, COFFEYVILLE

THERE’S SO MUCH DISHONESTY

I WAS OUTSIDE

MY SUPPORT FALLS AWAY

A VOICE SAID

LET THE WORLD CRACK

TO THE LILAC

ONE SUMMER, AS A HIGH

SCHOOL KID

ONE TIME LITTLE MONTE

ME, MY FATHER, AND A BROTHER

I WAS ON MY WAY

STEPPING OUTSIDE

THAT POET

A SUNFLOWER

WHEN I FIRST LOOKED TOWARD

I SPEND A LOT OF TIME

WHAT AN ODD THING

CHARLIE BROKE OUT LAUGHING

FOR TODAY THE SAME MANNER

I SEE MY TASK

WHEN I WALKED OUT

IF WHEN YOU DIE

J81

A FEW DAYS AGO

IT TOOK THREE DAYS

I RECALL LOOKING OVER

6 APRIL 1996

AMONG THE MANY OTHER MOMENTS

THERE ARE FAR MORE TIMES

I KNOW THE RULES

I COME AS PROOF

LATELY I’VE BEEN HEARING

COME SONG

I DO NOT LIKE

I DON’T WANT ANY QUARRELS

I WAS SITTING OUTSIDE

WHAT IS IT THAT NEEDS TO BE SAID

AMONG ALL THE DILUTION

ON A STROLL LAST NIGHT

I WAS CALLED ON THE TELEPHONE

THIS AFTERNOON

IT’S A NICE, WARM,

SPRING AFTERNOON

J82

ALTHOUGH I AM A POET

MY SONGS COME TO LIFE

I PARKED MY CAR

TALKING MY TALK

THERE CAN BE NO SILENCE

YOU CAN TELL

WHATEVER IS NECESSARY

I’M CAUGHT VERY MUCH BY SURPRISE

J83-J85

YESTERDAY, WANDERING ALONG

J86

AUSTIN, TEXAS 1966; AT

MY UNCLE’S STORE

A LOT OF KIDS GROW UP

WE ALL SEE THE FACE

AT THE LAST FAMILY GATHERING

GOLD CAT LYING ON A WINDOW SILL

I HAPPENED TO BE

TO SPEAK ONE’S MIND

ONE OF THE HARDEST THINGS

I KNOW THE CAT

IT WAS ONE MORE

FOR THE BETTER PART

OFTEN WHILE I’M WORKING

I WAS SITTING ON A WOODEN PORCH

ANOTHER DAY DRIVING TO WORK

I WAS WALKING IN THE DARK

ERIC, THE PROJECT FOREMAN

YESTERDAY MORNING

IT WAS AN OLD BUFFALO HEAD

PRAYING FOR A RAIN DAY

EAST OF WAMEGO

I WENT DOWN TO A LARGE

CLEAR POND

WE WERE WAITING

I SAID

I’M SITTING ON A LARGE ROCK

STANDING BY THE PORCH

UNCLE THEODORE

WE ARE GODLESS

THE NEW WORLD I SEE

I WAS STANDING AROUND

ONE DAY I WAS WORKING

FROM POUND’S CANTOS

I WAS CLEANING THE WATER JETS

CHANNEL 49

I WAS AT A LAUNDROMAT

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE JOB SITE

I WAS SITTING

STEPPING OUT TONIGHT

12 DECEMBER 1997, 2:45 A.M.

J88

IN WASHINGTON THE BIG

DUST CLOUD

FOR WORDSWORTH

I CAN REMEMBER

THE WHOLE SCANDAL

I WAS MAKING COPIES

I’M SPENDING SO MUCH TIME ALONE

MY CONCERNS FOR POETRY

A THICK FOG

MY MANHATTAN,

KANSAS APARTMENT

INTO THE GENERAL MELANCHOLY

ALL THINGS ARE WILLING

THE TIME HAS COME

I HAVE ALWAYS LIKED HAPPY MUSIC

HOW DID I EVER ALLOW MYSELF

WHAT WORLD IS THIS

YOUTH SHOULD NOT DIE

I TOOK A SEAT

I WAS AT THE FUNERAL

AS MUCH TIME AND EFFORT

IT’S AS IF I WORK AND WAIT

A THEME THAT IS SEEN

J89

IT PROBABLY WASN’T MUCH LIKE

AS MUCH AS I’VE WORKED WITH POETRY

26 MARCH 1998

AS HIGH FLOWN

WALLY AND HELEN

I WAS OUTSIDE

IT’S ONE OF THOSE LAZY

SPRING EVENINGS

THERE IS A GREAT DEAL

I TOOK A STROLL

AGAIN I COME HERE

A FEW MOMENTS AGO

YESTERDAY I WAS RIDING

26 JUNE 1998

I’M MORE CONVINCED THAN EVER

THERE’S NOTHING I SEE

AS I WANDER AROUND

WE HAVE HAD A BIG SNOW STORM

J90

IT’S USELESS

I STAND TALL

WHO AND WHAT PEOPLE ARE

THE WORLD WE LIVE IN

SOMETIMES I FORGET WHO I AM

I HEAR A BLUE JAY SQUALLING

HERE AMONG THE RUINS

HOW OFTEN MUST A PERSON

I’VE BEEN WRITING

I WAS AT MY AUNT RAMONA’S HOUSE

SHE SAID, WEE-DOGGIES!

LET ME STEP

SOMETIMES I THINK I SHOULD CURSE

AS THE NIGHT SLOWLY CREEPS

THIS DAY STARTS OUT

POETRY HAS GIVEN UP

I AM ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE

THIS MORNING MY PEN

THERE’S A GREAT DEAL OF TALK

I HAVE NEVER BEEN

WITH THESE LINES

I THINK I’LL ROAR

I ONCE THOUGHT

OFTEN ENOUGH

SING ON, POET

I DON’T LIKE THE

MODERN MONOTONE

I DON’T KNOW WHY POETRY

FOR FAR TOO LONG

WHAT DOUBT CAN THERE BE

IT NEVER CEASES TO AMAZE ME

THIS DRAB AND DREARY WORLD

WE HAVE THIS LIFE

SEEKING NOTHING SO MUCH

YESTERDAY I WATCHED SUGAR ANTS

I WANT MY SPIRIT

I THINK OF HER

THERE ARE PLENTY OF PEOPLE

LET ME SOUND MYSELF

HERE DARKLY BROODING

I DON’T RECALL WHERE I HEARD IT

FROM MY ROOM

POVERTY AND IGNORANCE

J91

I LIKE THAT WE’RE A NATION

LOOK AND SEE

I WAS WALKING IN THE

MANHATTAN MALL

I WAS RECALLING

DESPITE MY BETTER KNOWLEDGE

YESTERDAY IS A VAGUE MEMORY

IF I NEVER LOVED YOU

I SEE NOTHING LACKING

WHAT TIME OR PLACE

IT GRIEVES ME

WE ARE THE BABY-BOOMERS

I HAVE INTENTIONALLY LEFT MYSELF

WHAT FORCE IS IT

LACKING ALL

I STAND HERE ON THIS HIGH HILL

WE ARE A NATION

LEFT ALONE HERE

OFTEN AS I DRIVE AROUND

I RECALL AS A KID

JUST A FEW BLOCKS

ACROSS THE STREET

THE LEAVES ARE BEGINNING TO TURN

A COMMON STROLL

I LIKE LISTENING

THERE ARE PEOPLE

I RECALL A DREAM

HERE ON THESE PAGES

WHAT’S GOING TO BECOME OF ME

J92-J100

J92

THE NIGHT IS STRETCHING

AS A KID

BEFORE I STARTED WORKING

IF A PERSON

IT’S DARK

I HAVE SAID MANY TIMES

IT’S GOOD TO LOOK AT

THAT I HAVE PROGRESSED

I RECALL CAMUS ASKING

IT STRIKES ME AS PETTY NOW

I THINK ABOUT THE WARNING

IT WAS A VERY MOVING SCENE

I WAS COMING HOME ONE DAY

DANNY, AN OLDER BROTHER

I DON’T HAVE THAT QUICK TEMPER

WHAT A STRANGE IMAGE

I HAVE OFTEN WONDERED WHY

THE TIME FOR TALK IS OVER

I SPOKE OF A DREAM

I WAS ON A STROLL

IT CAN BE SAD

I’VE LONG HELD THE BELIEF

THERE’S LITTLE MORE DULL

TO BE ABLE TO CREATE THINGS

AS A NATION

IN AUSTIN, TEXAS

J93

HERE AMONG THE WILD PRAIRIES

WHAT NEXT

THE FIRST SNOWFALL

FOR SOME REASON

IT DOES LITTLE GOOD

IT’S NOT THE LESSER STATES

I’M NOT UNAWARE

IT’S SIX IN THE MORNING

IT’S USELESS TO PRETEND

TO FEATHERS

THERE’S NOTHING I LIKE MORE

IT’S BITTERLY COLD

IT DOESN’T MEAN VERY MUCH

IT’S NOT THAT WE

PERHAPS THE ODDEST THING

I WAS WITH SOME FRIENDS

THE ICY COLD OF WINTER

LAST NIGHT I HAD A CHANCE

WHEN I FIRST STARTED FOCUSING

YESTERDAY A COWORKER

JIM, ANOTHER COWORKER

HE WAS FAST

SHE WAS ONLY A COUPLE

MONTHS OLD

THERE HE GOES

KARL TOLD AN ODD STORY

LAST NIGHT THERE WAS A GATHERING

AS I STEPPED OUT

ERNEST

THE NOVICE DRUMMER

I WAS WATCHING THE GORILLAS

WHILE READING VARIETIES OF RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE

I’M STILL WORKING

LAST NIGHT

MICKEY HAS COME TO WORK

ERNEST WAS UNHAPPY

HARLEY IS TWENTY-ONE

MY HEAD MIGHT AS WELL

SLEET IS FALLING

WHEN MY VERSES ARE STILLBORN

THE RAIN, THEN SLEET

MARK, OUR PROJECT SUPERVISOR

AS A ROMANTIC

I OFTEN REMIND MYSELF

I HEAR A DOG BARKING

DREAMS

WHEN I LEFT WORK FRIDAY

I WAS RUNNING AROUND

THE SUPERMARKET

IT’S ONE OF THOSE MOODS

I FIND MYSELF FEELING LONELY

ALTHOUGH THE ACTUAL BOMBING

TODAY ONE OF THE NEW WOMEN

I STAND APART FROM THE CROWD

IT IS VERY EARLY

I KNOW THERE ARE LOTS OF THINGS

HOW CAN I COMPLAIN

A FEW DAYS AGO

PERHAPS WE ALL SOMETIMES FEEL

IT’S AN ODD THING

AND NOW IN LITTLETON, COLORADO

I WAS STROLLING AROUND OUTSIDE

TODAY I WAS MUCKING

OUT A TRENCH

MICKEY HAS LET THE CREW KNOW

I DON’T WANT TO CARRY ON

RISE, MY SONG

I’M OFTEN SURPRISED

MICKEY, WITH THE HELP

OF COWORKERS

TODAY MICKEY SPENT THE DAY

I WENT TO THE SUPERMARKET

MORE THAN MERELY ONCE

I WAS ALL EMBROILED

I WENT OUTSIDE

I SOUND MYSELF

AMY IS AN ATTRACTIVE WOMAN

I SAW MICKEY

THERE’S A TREE

PETE IS THE CARPENTER FOREMAN

AUDREY AND NICOLE

ON A STROLL I HAPPENED TO PASS

WE WERE PICKING UP TOOLS

I HAPPENED TO BE SITTING DOWN

J95

I’VE NEVER BEEN AROUND

RACCOONS, POSSUMS, CROWS

SEA GULLS HAVE ARRIVED

LIKE A LOVER PINES

YESTERDAY AT A FAMILY GATHERING

REX SAID HE LIKED HER

I WENT TO A PLACE

MANY A TIME

I SEE YOU PASSING BY

SHE PUT ON SOME RED HORNS

WITHOUT YOU HERE

THE WORLD MAY BE AT PEACE

IT DIDN’T COME IN A FLASH

IT’S A COLD AND OVERCAST DAY

I DON’T KNOW

I FIND MYSELF RECALLING

ANOTHER BIRTHDAY

I HEARD ABOUT THE PAINTING

IT’S GOOD THAT HISTORY

I DON’T CARE

AND HE FEARED

PAUL GOT BEAT UP

PAUL SAID HE LIKED

MONDAY

THE ROOM WAS A SMALL CUBICLE

SHE WAS LITTLE MORE

DAY FOLLOWS DAY

I DON’T SEE WHERE

I RISE AMONG THE CURRENT CHATTER

TONIGHT

I WAS ABOUT SIXTEEN

WHEN I WALKED INTO THE OFFICE

30 OCTOBER 1999

PAUL’S AN IDIOT

DOUBLE-DAVE CALLED TODAY

BOBBY BOTTOMFEEDER

SHE HAS THE LOOK

SOFT

SHE MUST BE

THE GUY WAS JUST WALKING BY

I NORMALLY GO OVER TO BOB’S DINER

THIS MORNING A YOUNG WOMAN

THE WIND IS BLOWING

SHE TELLS ME

ACROSS THE STREET

I WAS IN BED

PREFACE

I have taken a few more liberties with the poems in this collection that deal with topics that belong to the perspective I call a new romanticism. In Volume One I tried to leave poems as they were in this regard but in this book I changed things more often to fit what my views are today. There are not that many poems that discuss the particulars of a new romanticism but the poems in Volume Two are close enough, chronologically, that I did not feel so awkward making the critical changes. During the time that I was writing these poems my focus was more about writing poetry; using the voice that was mine than it was about discovering what I understood as the missing link. It was early in 1984 that I understood there was a missing link in what I called a new romanticism, but as fate would have it, I did not know where to go, what to do, or how I could learn what that missing link was all about; thus, as time went its unceasing way, and as I often lost myself in assorted jobs and other daily affairs, writing poetry itself became a necessary task. This is simply the use it or lose it phenomenon. It was not infrequently that my poetic voice became a focus because jobs often took me away from writing, and when I had time to write verse again, I had to regain what time had allowed to rust, gather dust, or otherwise weaken. My poetic voice has not changed much since I first started writing poetry in 1980, but at the time, I did not know that; what is more, voice was never a central issue or concern. It seemed so at times but the real issue was always the missing link that belonged to a new romanticism. I was often confused about the whole issue; insecure. What was I doing, I would ask, am I seeking a comfortable poetic voice or am I looking for the missing link? Often I was not sure. What clarified things in my own mind was something that happened while I was in graduate school. I found myself being challenged; told that I lacked a poetic voice. The charge was made by a feminist teacher who probably thought I was a male, chauvinist, pig. Any man who was not a weepy little wimp would be fair game in her book. The thing is, the charge of lacking a voice, well understood as an attempt at castration, brought prominently to mind the confusion I had about my poetic voice and the missing link. I did not know what the missing link was all about. I knew that; knew it all too well. It was a source of insecurity and confusion; that insecurity and confusion often spilled over into my understanding and acceptance of my poetic voice. After completing my studies, I decided that I would no longer leave myself so vulnerable in such a critical area of my poetry. I decided that I had to know what the missing link was all about even if I destroyed myself in the process. I started writing with a vengeance; I redoubled my focus on all things going on in my head. The missing link belonged to me. I had to have it. I no longer cared about anything else. The poem, 6 April 1996, came to life with that determination in mind. (I actually graduated in 1997 but that was because my mother and oldest brother died very close to one another and I had to delay taking my final test.)

At the time of 6 April 1996, the missing link was all about what I had been calling my familiars. They were a vaguely understood, fully accepted, strange something. That’s all I knew. They were the foundation of what I understood a new romanticism to be despite my incomplete knowledge about them; they were also the reason that I could live, write, and often speak with such confidence and assurance. My familiars had been giving me numerous instances, events and experiences, revealing a truth and beauty that has no equal. All of that had been going on for years. I had the confidence and assurance of a born-again Christian but I was not a Christian or religious at all. I was a social conservative with many liberal positions. I was tolerant but fundamentally conservative because my whole life was based on a vision, many visions, of powerful, overriding powers that were my natural divines. I walked the proverbial narrow road because I routinely tried to keep myself as receptive as possible for the benefit of my familiars; my natural divines. Perhaps that feminist teacher I spoke of sensed this, did not like how it empowered me as a person, so she wanted me taken down a few notches. I don’t know, all I know is that she struggled to tear me down; struggled so much that I often wanted to tell her compromising things about myself so she would have real ammunition to shoot me down with and thereby ease her suffering.

It was always the missing link; not my poetic voice. Again, my poetic voice was set early on, and despite myself, it stayed much the same as it is today. There was no alternative. I had to have the missing link or I had to live with far less than I knew was possible. I could not accept that my familiars would leave me so vulnerable when they were otherwise remarkably and abundantly giving. It became a do or die situation.

I have talked about this subject on many occasions. It was the winter of 2005 that I had a series of revelations that showed me how my familiars were actually three separate states of mind that I call native, creative, and symbolic genius. Being made aware of this reflects nothing special about me. Everyone in the species is born with native, creative, and symbolic genius. Were I to strut around all prideful-like because I made this discovery then I might as well strut around and boast how I have two ears or a mind capable of imagining things. Who does not?

I also realized that the central stone to all revelatory religions; that is, Judism, Christianity, and Islam is what I call native genius. Native genius is a powerful sensation of truth and beauty, we see things around us with extraordinary clarity; we sense that we understand what the universe is all about. We are given an exquisite sensation of well-being. When a revelatory religion talks about God they are really talking about a naturally occurring mental phenomenon. This is why I say that we lack nothing that belonged to the ancients; it is also why I can maintain such a positive outlook for myself and for everyone in general. Native genius shows how all things are possible. It offers a tremendous boost to our will to life; thus and again, nature did not leave moderns bereft and alone. We have lost the word God, but the real-time experience that gave birth to the word God is alive and well; what is more, native genius has friends. Creative and symbolic genius work hand in hand with native genius. The former is a problem solver for very specific questions while the latter is more a life-sustainer that deals with more general matters.

The high-flying idealism representing my early impressions of a new romanticism was finally grounded during the winter of 2005. The high flying idealism came to be understood as attempts to describe natural, although extraordinary, states of mind. That is the missing link. That is what puts a new romanticism on solid ground; fits it securely within the human body; the human mind. Native, creative, and symbolic genius belongs to everyone in the species. They are part of our normal psychology; it is how a healthy mind functions. We all know that heightened sense of awareness; those times when things around us glisten with remarkable clarity; we sense that we understand what the cosmos is about; we are made very happy and feel like we have made contact with an extraordinary power, but then, we tend to forget the experience after the sensation passes. Day to day life intervenes and pushes it all aside. If we recall the experience, we tend to shrug our shoulders and wonder what it was all about. We are no longer under the spell of the vision or the remarkable truth that we seemed to know at the time. The naturally occurring mental attribute that created that experience is native genius. When we have a specific problem or question that we cannot solve, but suddenly gain a resolution for at the least expected time, that is creative genius. If we are not struggling with a specific problem or question but nevertheless gain very pleasant images or sounds (music) then that is symbolic genius at work. Nothing here is demonic, insane, mysterious, or otherworldly. What I am describing are naturally occurring states of the human mind.

When I look around at the modern world, remind myself of the atheism, secularism, and other attempts to keep things rational, intellectual, or reasonable then I see clearly how we are leaving out of our world view the most wonderful things that nature provides. Native, creative, and symbolic genius are not rational, intellectual, or reasonable. They are far superior to those states of mind. They are a second mind; a better mind that comes to us all now and then in a revelatory manner. Revelations, today, carry a lot of negative baggage. We think of revelations as bad, superstitious, religious, ignorant, and completely unwanted. This is a grave error. The best and brightest in the human mind comes to us by way of revelations. Consider again the concepts of native, creative, and symbolic genius. They are not reasoned out and then we see or experience them. They are not sought and then found; nor do they come to us because we fancy ourselves intellectual, analytical, or reasonable. They come to us all of a sudden and from out of nowhere; that is, in a revelatory manner. One minute they are there but the next they are not. The best and brightest comes to us by way of revelations. As foolish as our ancestors could be sometimes, they were not fools when they spoke of God. They spoke of the glory and splendor; the love and wisdom of God and understood one another because they had all sensed that kind of thing to one degree or another. God is native genius. God and native genius share the same adjectives because they are both one and the same; an intense sensation of truth and beauty; unparalleled, miraculous, overpowering, and life-reviving. It offers a tremendous boost to our will to life and has the power to resurrect life from the walking dead. It makes us willing to suffer and endure to make the world it reveals possible here on earth in whatever ways we can. Visionaries and prophets who experienced their own native genius have not had the proper terms to talk about what they saw, thought, and felt. Native genius seems to offer something otherworldly because the truth and beauty it reveals is very unlike what we sense on a day to day basis, but then, there is nothing otherworldly about it. Native genius, like creative and symbolic genius, are natural attributes of the human mind.

I knew none of this prior to the winter of 2005. I knew the experience native genius provides. I had experienced it many times; indeed, that is what turned me toward poetry in the first place around 1980. That is also why, in 1984, I could write a book-length poem and a prose essay that shared the same title, A New Romanticism. When I gave the prose and poetic essay a close and critical reading, I saw that despite the many words that seemed to know what a new romanticism was all about, there was a missing link. I knew then, as now, the experience of native, creative, and symbolic genius but I didn’t know what to call it or them. They were called my familiars. That is basically where I was 6 April 1996. It took me about ten years thereafter to finally gain the knowledge I sought.

Talking about genius can be awkward but think about Freud, Darwin, and Einstein. Freud had to talk about the validity of dreams and child sexuality. Darwin had to talk about an evolving world that had nothing to do with God. Einstein had to talk about the relativity of space and time; how they could expand or contract. I am now talking about genius and how genius is not a singular thing but has three basic components; what is more, everyone in the species has it and them.

Life goes on; history