The Life of a Poet

Last week, one of my poet pals called and was terribly upset. Without getting into too many details, lots of things going wrong or not happening at all, some out of his control, some (at least in my opinion) he could change, but it would mean he'd have to make some decisions he doesn't seem willing to make.

One thing he said was "I don't know why I ever became a poet" and this struck me as odd and insanely naive. What does one expect when he/she consciously decides to study and pursue poetry? I can't imagine any career that more clearly implies one will never make enough to support oneself (if one manages to make anything at all). There are no job advertisements for "Poet" in the newspaper, no agencies that help place poets or anything even remotely close to that. When I give family members copies of journals where my work appears in they ask, "Oh, they paid you for this?" Sure did, two copies and I'm splitting the spoils with you.

The whole "working in something related to the field" seems like a real crap shoot too. Teaching on a college level? Sure, there's a few of those jobs. Only you and a couple thousand better published MFAs (and Ph.Ds) are applying to those jobs. What if one gets one of those adjunct jobs? Minus a trust fund or spouse with a well paying job, one still has to have a second job to pay the rent. Everybody I know with an adjunct position has at least one of those three things. The same goes for most publishing and non-profit art administration gigs. Those are all noble and in many cases enriching jobs and I think anybody interested in doing them should pursue them. But there's a reality that goes along with it and expecting anything other than that is, well, ridiculous.

One impression I get from my friend is that he feels a sense of entitlement from his MFA. Now I don't regret anything about getting my MFA, I found my time at Bennington immensely fulfilling and valuable. Notice I said, I find it valuable. Few other people do. In fact, in terms of the job market I think I was more hireable without it. The truth (and I think this is so obvious I feel silly for spelling it out) the MFA degree gives nothing. What you learn while getting the degree is another thing that may help you pursue your writing, maybe, but it's hardly a ticket to the big leagues -- whatever that is supposed to be. How many MFAs are churned out each year? Is it in the high hundreds? Is it over a thousand? Maybe. All I know is that it's a lot and every year it's a new crop. Can one really be that outraged when one doesn't land one of those few teaching jobs offered each year? How long can one live in poverty, not pursue and turn down non-field jobs and cry about how nobody wants him? I don't have any problem with somebody living in poverty and waiting if that's the route he want to take, but accept that's the route being chosen and accept it's going to be a miserable ride. Hey, that sounds like the life of a poet to me. MISERY!

Now, pursuing a rock 'n roll career, I could see how someone might be swept away into that fantasy and ignore the reality of hard work, tough breaks and round-the-clock rejection. Turn on the TV, flip open a magazine, it's bling bling and non-stop head. Sure, that does seem like fun.

I run a small jewelry business, saved some money from my corporate job and, most importantly, have a husband with a good job that covers living expenses. That is how I live and write poetry. That is the life of this poet. If my husband left me or lost his job, I'd be out the next day begging for one of those "grunt" jobs my friend believes he's too good for. I wouldn't be crying about how I had an MFA and was a poet yet I was reduced to doing whatever (although I might be crying for other reasons).

What is the fantasy of a poet's life? Where is this fantasy perpetuated? I'm serious. I don't have this fantasy, but obviously other people do. Would somebody please tell me what this entails so I could understand my friend's predicament, you know, be a more sympathetic friend.