A while back, I wrote a blog post about nostalgia—not necessarily for a so-called “better” time but for things that don’t exist in most places anymore. Examples might include mix tapes and handheld camcorders, when filming in public was a relatively rare phenomenon. (Heck, even iPods qualify at this point.)
This weekend I got a little nostalgic as part of the big clean-out my wife and I must complete in preparation for an eventual move. I have a metal two-drawer filing cabinet, the bottom half of which contains poetry and song notebooks dating back to the 70s, as well as literary magazines from high school and college.
I’ll keep all those, but the top drawer was chockablock with stuff that needed the old heave-ho. This included everything from 1990s tax returns to filing folders filled with research materials for long-published novels.
A Question of Talent
I didn’t indulge in looking through the old songs and poems for very long, because we have so much more to do. However, thinking about the early work reminded me of a funny story, which I promptly told my wife.
During freshman or sophomore year, I made my first submissions to my high school literary magazine. In other words, I took my first shot somewhere between 14 and 16 years of age. Now, for whatever reason, the guy who ran the project taught Physics or Math or something. Why they didn’t draft an English teacher is beyond me.
I guess he felt the poems seemed a little too advanced for someone of such a tender age. I was summarily called into the office of the dean or principal (I forget which), and queried about this work I had submitted. While they did not exactly accuse me of plagiarism, the proceedings had an aroma of incredulity.
This offended me greatly, and I huffed that they were, of course, original. Ultimately, in those pre-internet days, they had to take my word for it. Thus began my literary career.
My private response, however, included writing a poem replying to my accusers/doubters. I know it remains in one of those notebooks, but I don’t know the date. I do remember, as I recounted to my wife, that the first two lines read, “No, they haven’t been subconsciously stolen / Nor even consciously, they’re entirely mine.” [Insert your own laughing emoji here.]
Throwing Out the Peaceful Past
I have nearly emptied the top drawer of the old filing cabinet, but it held some interesting memorabilia. I realized yesterday that I spent much of my twenties dedicating myself to anti-war and environmental concerns, even more than I remembered. Among my first published works: an article called “Looking Backward on Desert Storm” in Opine, a local CT publication from the 90s. I also found letters responding to letters I wrote to a Congressman, a State Rep, and even the President.
While it always feels slightly sad throwing out so much documenting a peacenik past, I know I have to learn to travel lighter. For today, I can rest easy knowing I have a ton of poems and songs to convert from pen and ink to published work in my upcoming retirement years.
