June 24, 2007

• ElectricPoetry Post

  

  NEW "INTRODUCTIONS PAGE" ONLINE at ElectricPoetry.

  Collected here are the various "Introductions" I have written for my collected works over the years. Beginning in 1972, I wrote eight separate "Introductions" as I expanded the Volumes of poetry I wrote. It has taken me eight years to create the "new" Introductions webpage. The "original page" from the Homestead site, has been online since the early aughts, but I only had three of the eight introductions on the page. Now, for the first time I have collected all the introductions, and am planning on penning a brand new introduction for 2007. I am created the Introductions page finally in May of 2007, and just now uploaded it to my server. At first my "Introductions" to the actual "Poetry Volumes" were semi annual. As I created new "editions" of my physical "Poetry Volume(s)" throughout the years, I added Introductions. I have now transcribed all the Introductions that had not yet made it to the internet. If anything, this serves as "one man's reasons" for writing poetry about life throughout life, or "why I write Poetry"

  "Poetry, A Loosely Constructed Essay" was the first introduction, and was created when I collected all my poetry and transcribed them chronologically in 1972. Since I wrote 134 poems in 1971, I wanted to be able to display all my poems in one place. A lot of early "art" and "literature" I created as a child was forgotten, but I didn't want to forget my poetry. I knew I had a gift, and this was a gift I would wrap up and present to people. Although I handwrote the poems, I did type everything through December 1972 for inclusion in the first "Volume" of my "Collected Works". The volume was typed, but the Introduction was handwritten. I still printed neatly in the 70s and 80s. amd I would always create a poem by hand.
  Two years later, I bound the college poems into another larger "Volume" and wrote the 1974 Introduction "Poetry:The Lifeblood of My Humanity" which is mainly a dissertation on the suicide poems I had written. Most of the poetry I had written in the latter year of high school and in college are negatively themed, owing to the turmoil facing my family and me at the time. I used to "loan" my original Poetry Volume to friends, usually girls and women, and most definitely those gals I wished to woo. Even after college ended for me, I continued to write poetry.

  In 1977, approaching the age of 25, and fired from my first job in retail management, I spent two months unemployed and wrote for most of the time, and I collected my poetry into two Volumes, and wrote another essay: "Poetry: A Reality to Offset the Craziness". My poetic muse has disappeared sometimes for a year or two at a time, but after the explosion of creativity in 1971, when I "found my voice" in poetry through lots of experimentation, I averaged about 20 poems a year.
  
  The Next Introduction was penned following my most poetic year since high school. In 1978 I wrote 67 poems, most of them unrequited love poems for a girl named Cathy. "Poetry: Why I Cry: (An Introduction to the poetry to be written in 1979 and an epilogue to the poetry of 1978)" is a chronicle of the "Cathy Poems" and explicates some of the more intricate poems.

  In 1980 I changed my binders from standard college issue to those extra large three ring binders used for archiving material. I wrote yet another Introduction, and also wrote the "yearly" introductions which grace the webpages for each year of Poety through 1980.

  I recently transcribed "Poetry: Looking for the Fulfillment Exit on the Freeway to Nowhere" basically a drug induced treatise from 1980. This introduction is duplicated below on this blog entry. It has never been seen on the internet till now.

  1982 found yet another Introduction, "On Poetry: An Essay" which leads with some selections of my poetry, including the "title poem" for the essay, "On Poetry". I proclaimed that I would continue to chronicle my life in poetry. Although I didn't write an Introduction for the next Volume, I started 1984 with a third volume of poetry, and then didn't write any poetry for most of the rest of the 80s.

  The above "introduction to the Introductions" is for the most part online on the New Introductions page. All the introductions which are mentioned are now online in chronological order on the Introductions Page for the ElectricPoetry site. Most of these introductions have been seen on this blog before in various entries. Except for the one posted below.

  Michael F. Nyiri, poet, philosopher, fool

  "Poetry: Looking for the Fullfillness Exit on the Freeway to Nowhere..."

  Written by Michael F. Nyiri Feb. 23, 1980

  The f*cking new decade began over a month ago and I haven't even written "Poem for the New Year 1980." Will I? It's taken this long to write the introduction and I smoked a joint before beginning (a first). What haven't I said in this volume? What ground haven't I covered? Well. I play this charade every year, and (Damn, 1978 I did write over 60 poems) every year I think I'll actually be productive. This year, I'll be cynical. Maybe productivity will be borne of that.

  This year I turn 27. There have been 1 steady relationship with sex, 2 without sex, 1 one sided relationship with partial sex, and one relationship with nothing but sex. What next? Love, my dear Watson, Love????

  I look continually. I watch faces. And now more than ever. But I'm still picky. It's been months since Diane. I'm still, like Buddy Holly's immortal persona, thinking it's getting closer, everyday. But there's nothing for me to do except wait and let people know. Maybe someday the right girl will find me. I've found many who didn't think I was right.

  So I keep looking, and keep asking the same questions about life. The following essay was written before this that you're reading now. I wrote it after thinking about it while stoned (I've never written while stoned before)

  I feel like I'm at a standstill, but as usual, I'm looking on the bright side. I'm working inside a store now and I'm willing to meet new people. I'm willing to practice my doctrines. In reading my poetry, find a richness of self. Find my soul. It has touched each poem. If more people acknowledge the impact, if any, of my poetry, I shall be compelled to produce. I need this to counteract any repressed cynicism real or imagined I might harbor.

  A poem is a truth. It is wholly a part of the poet's emotion.It exists.

  You know when you're on really good pot and you're listening to music and you're really stoned and you might or might not have listened to the music before; it doesn't matter, but all of a sudden you find you're REALLY listening to the words, and they make so much sense, like even a phrase like "she left him" or "he left her" takes on all the implications it's supposed to, and you really understand.

  My poetry is like that. It should be read like that. It is simple, yet complicated. Easy yet not so easy. At it's best, it says as mych as it possibly can in as few words, exactly what poetry should do.

  At it's worst it doesn't really exist.

  I think that poetry exists in me only when it should. That the words travel out of my pen without even touching my brain if the poetry's there.

  Other times it is not there and no matter how hard I try I just can't wake it up.

  I can be my poetry's best friend or it's most hated critic, for I've read it so often lately after not finding inspiration following the "Cathy poems". Funny? I haven't reread the "Cathy poems" too often. Why?

  How will we answer any of these questions? I've asked the questions in countless poems. The themes are few but powerful. Not the questions should be answered. I shall inwardly die if I can't feel the answers.

  I know the answers.
  But no one else seems to.
  If only I could find someone
  to cast my love's beams to.

  We all live so flatly
  Simply feigning our joy
  And I still feel love
  for each girl and each boy

  But my love's not returned
  Only abided or spurned
  Seems no love have I earned
  and the answers are burned.

  I thought of a term yesterday. "The Freeway to Nowhere". I feel as if we're all on the Freeway to Nowhere. The world is a mess. The leaders play stupid games and human lives still remain at stake. It's been like that a long time. It still is. Dope is overused by too many people in too many ways, and the repurcussions are resounding only too clearly. And I speak from experience. I overuse - tell myself I should quit and don't. We all do the same thing. It's terrible.

  But I still laugh. We all want to. I cry too much. (inwardly) (Guess that's why I laugh so much on the outside) Aren't we all like that in one way or another?

  Just like the song you hear on dope contains important messages you've never heard, so does each person in the world. We are much more than we seem, to each other. And we should reach out and touch more often. But we don't. When inspired by love, I write poetry. Sad that love hasn't happened because then I will develop new themes.

  This essay will divide these feelings into major themes. 1. Love given. 2. Love returned. (partially) and maybe love returned fully.

  Only by being immersed in care for our fellow humans can we tilt the world back on it's course.

  I hope my poetry can in one small way help to accomplish this.

  Each poem (to repeat) is a moment frozen in time- a thoughtfoto. By fully reading each poem chronologically, one can grasp a total picture of the poet's life, beliefs, and remembrances. If he can touch off a spark of remembrance or care in another, his purpose is fulfilled.

  Someday, perhaps, each poem shall be written a masterpiece. Perhaps, I'll become an artist, as I have always dreames. Dear "Mommy" (oh, that you'd lived) always called me special. Always said I had talent. My friends see my drawings, read my poems, and (after they criticize) they applaud. I call myself conceited but rarely applaud. I look back at highschool (was it me who said "highschool images will always haunt my poetry) and think of how important I wanted it to become. I thought I was good at everything, but then I realized I'm only mediocre. I don't practice. I drink beer. I smoke dope. I don't care. Is this an apology? Do I write these damn things as apologies? Excuses? Well- I write this for myself too, because it is my poetry.

  The poetry will return, triumphantly, when next inspiration hits. I'm over Cathy just as much now as I'm over Kathy, Emma, Kathy M., Gabrielly, Melissa, Ruth (ha! ha!) , Karen, Terry, or Darlene. I'm even in a position to understand my relationship to Diane. And whatever happens I hope the poems come. Each girl is special and the words are always fresh because every person is unique.

  I love life and I celebrate it. "And I shall know how it is to feel my existence someday."

  To you dear reader:

  We are all sailbirds
  Cause the ocean's the sea
  And lest ye don't fall
  Please reach out to me

  Michael F. Nyiri
  Feb. 23, 1980

  • 10:18 am
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