So I tried to lose my blogging virginity - I mean, I _did_ lose it - last night, but the post didn’t stick… not sure what that means technically (vis my virginity vis blogging - ie perhaps I’m still a virgin), but here we go again…

I am here now blogging from my office job - joining the infamous ranks of the poets and other disgruntleds who do that sort of thing every day… Office job is ending soon, though (9/1 will be my final day after six long years of sitting at a very big black desk)… as will my use of this fancy computer.

Thinking today about taste. A friend of mine sent me the following Rumi poem after she and I had had a heavy conversation. I liked the Rumi poem - very much - which made me worry for my little dark avant-garde heart….

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.

meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

– Jelaluddin Rumi, translation by Coleman Barks

Mary Oliver, who also taps into the New Age or more touchy feelie poetry market sells really well… in general, those most disposed toward reading poetry in our current cultural climate seem also to be those most interested in things like yoga and praying and hiking in the great outdoors. Fence, obviously, does not cater to this crowd… publishes a lot of anti-Rumis/Mary Olivers… and I wonder if this is just a reaction - a high-brow, snobbish reaction to the “natural” poetry instinct (contemplative, mystic, religious) - or if it is something else…