A storoem about a poet's book having unrecognized effects. |
An amateur poet self-publishes a book of his poetry. Holding it in his hands causes his heart to soar, his ego to inflate. He gifts copies to family and friends to look at his accomplishment. Tho’ he well understands poetry books never sell, he hopes for a better fate. At every opportunity he quite eagerly promotes his book, advertising by whatever means he can. Many promise to buy a copy … but they never do. In hopes of striking gold, he foolishly devotes time, money to send copies to celebrities, who can make the book a best-seller by a mention or two. Weeks turn into months; months turn into a year. Discouragement begins as sales fail to materialize. The poet becomes disheartened so that he never again publishes his poems. Having become unclear as to the worth of his work, now failing to realize its effect, he eventually stops writing poetry forever. Unbeknownst to our poet, a book sent to Oprah’s show is discarded unread … but a cleaning maid retrieves it from the trash and takes it home to her young son. He reads it again and again. Thus the lad comes to know a lifelong love of poetry. Later, he’ll say he conceives his idea of becoming a poet from this reading he’d done. The boy studies and writes, until he grows into a poet of great renown. He teaches at a prestigious university, instilling in students a love for poetry. Our book writer never did know, because his book sales did not show it, but his work had great importance, having a diversity of effects. His heavy heart would have stayed lighter had he kept focused upon writing for self, not for sales. Please check out my ten books: http://www.amazon.com/Jr.-Harry-E.-Gilleland/e/B004SVLY02/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0 |