Small World

The poem below is written by Matthew Epstein, a new friend of mine and a great poet who went to Columbia University's MFA program (master of fine arts) at nearly the same time I did, but we never knew one another there. After Columbia, Matthew worked as an air traffic controller and a pilot, probably a rare if not completely unique skill set for an alum of the writing program (he was in the poetry division, I was in fiction) and has a most interesting background, full of life experiences unlike most poets I know. He also lived in LA, as we figure it, probably about the same time I did. (I love his descriptions of LA roads and canyons in the poem below.) To make a long story short, we ended up running into one another in a bookstore and finding out we live very near one another in the same town, after traveling similar roads for 20 years from New York to California to Boston.

When we talk and when I read his poetry, I find a way to understand, and feel a great sense of homecoming, as to how I see the world. The smallest gesture or an inanimate object in the world is full and ripe with meaning for me often as not. The things of this world hold meaning when the things people say often ring hollow and empty for me. The light on the yuccas and the shaky footing on the docks at Marina del Rey in the poem below say everything about the reality of the world this boy lives in -- despite the words the parents speak repeatedly, "You're safe and loved" when the boy knows this is not at all true.

It's a treasure to know people and make new friends who have a gut level understanding of your way of seeing the world and your work. I don't write that much poetry any more, but a little now and then, but so much of my other writing has this poet's point-of-view, I really appreciate Matthew understanding that and talking to me about it. I hope all people can find friends who "get" the work they are doing and help enjoy and inform the process of their work. It's a blessing.