Wednesday, January 19, 2011

I Want To Be Famous . . . . . .

Famous, but only to all of you. It's been so very long since I could find the time, and the will, and the inspiration to write, but mostly, I needed the courage.

Let me explain.

I love Facebook. If it wasn't for Facebook, I wouldn't have reunited with several old friends that I had assumed were out of my life forever, I wouldn't know that my niece was accepted into the Cytogenetics program at UT / MD Anderson
. (Go Mattie! - and yes, I had to look it up to see what the hell that meant.) I wouldn't know about friends new puppys, or jobs, or many other mundane but joyous things. If it wasn't for Facebook, I wouldn't have the lovely Xena to wake up to each morning. So yes, I love Facebook.

So . . . . the problem is, Facebook makes it so damn easy to keep in touch with people, including the great majority of you, that my communication has become one-liners and hitting the Like button. I have forgotten how to sit down, organize my thoughts and turn them into a coherent post.

Believe me, I've tried. You should see the unfinished drafts in my queue. It's not like I haven't had plenty to write about. Writing has just become scary and hard.

So bear with me.

Scold me.

Remind me to go write something more than a poorly punctuated paragraph about how stupid Sarah Palin's admirers are.

When I was a brash young man, I dreamed of being famous. I still want that, but I want a different kind of famous now. Something like this.


by Naomi Shihab Nye

The river is famous to the fish.

The loud voice is famous to silence,
which knew it would inherit the earth
before anybody said so.

The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds
watching him from the birdhouse.

The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.

The idea you carry close to your bosom
is famous to your bosom.

The boot is famous to the earth,
more famous than the dress shoe,
which is famous only to floors.

The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it
and not at all famous to the one who is pictured.

I want to be famous to shuffling men
who smile while crossing streets,
sticky children in grocery lines,
famous as the one who smiled back.

I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,
or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,
but because it never forgot what it could do.

I want to be famous to you guys again. I really do.


kkryno said...

You already are! :)

Brave Sir Robin said...

Good to have you here!

Bee said...

You have not been forgotten.

Brave Sir Robin said...

Nor you, Friend.

Fantastic Forrest said...

What a fabulous poem!

Now please finish one of your drafts. Or write a completely new piece. Just don't entirely abandon the paragraphs excoriating Palin's admirers. However, kindly avoid poor punctuation practices.


MaryA said...

and here we are ;)


Pam I Am said...

Ah, this is one of my favorite poems ever. And it too is my philosophy. I may have even said so on Facebook.

We have probably discussed this poem before.

I look forward to the resurrected blog. Maybe you will inspire me to get my own food act together.