Elvis Poem Auction Update

March 27, 2009

It turns out that my $5,000 estimate on the Elvis poem was terribly naive. It sold at auction for over $20,000! Who'd have thought that crushing the skull of an innocent bird would inspire investment.

Sigh, if only it was about the content. I suspect the purchase has more to do with worship of the famous author than the quality of the poem. The rumor is that the new owner plans leach the ink, fingerprint oil, and stray tears from the paper, brew a tea from the remaining sludge, and suck it down with expectations of eternal life.

I digress, back to quality; here is a bit of context for you. One of the top prizes for an individual poem in 2009 is from the Atlanta Review. For winning the contest with the best poem, you'd get, appropriately enough, $2009. However, there's a distinct qualitative difference between Elvis's charmless work and the contest winner. See for yourself. Here's the 2008 winner, "Flower Bomb" by Vivan Quoc Vu. Please, I beg you, click and read it. It's a war poem and your investment of 2 minutes could change the way you see the world.

Best of all, it is free.

Anniversary

March 26, 2009

Around this time last year, I returned home from the hospital after living through kidney failure. In retrospect, I shouldn't have been surprised. In 1987, the nephrologists told me I had 20% function in each kidney and estimated 2 years until kidney failure. I was 19 years old then and the diagnosis did a Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robot punch to my skull. The news knocked my concept of "self" into a mist that floated outside my body. I felt very temporary about this world and my prospects on it.

It took 10 years to regain some semblance of consciousness. Thankfully, I have good friends and a supportive family. I avoided any truly destructive behavior, was smart enough to always take my high blood pressure meds and stayed away from known kidney killers. I learned to cope with or ignore the exhaustion, headaches, and gout attacks. I directed my limited energy into work and avoided thinking about the future because keeping busy and good old-fashioned denial seemed to be my best coping strategies. 2 years stretched to 22.

Denial is a mule that can pack a lot of weight. A few years ago, I noticed that I wasn't performing as well at work. I had a hard time having the impact and driving the kind of change that had been so satisfying. I chalked it up to burnout. I contemplated changing careers. I thought that maybe I was depressed and considered anti-depressants and counseling. I decided I was far too fat and got in shape and lost a ton of weight. I went on a half-hearted search for an artistic outlet to replace acting and writing that were so important to me when I was young. Finally, I broke my vow never to marry and even invested in a dog. That's a ton of good positive weight for the mule. It felt good. It still feels good. I was living.

Unfortunately, my ass continued to drag (so to speak). I could barely get out bed. Honestly, I thought it was mental. It seems ridiculous now, but I refused to believe or acknowledge it could be kidney disease. It wasn't until my hands swelled to size of surgical balloons and my face was yellow and puffy with fluid that I looked in the mirror and realized, "oh shit, I'm in kidney failure."

So, a year ago after an emergency doctor appointment, I was hospitalized. Just in time, by the way. My blood pressure was something like 60/40 when I was admitted. Today, I have been on life saving dialysis for one year. I'm not celebrating with a cake and candles, but perhaps I should. Anniversaries are about counting stuff, so here are the numbers: 1 year, that's 156 dialysis treatments @ 4 hours a pop on the machine for a total of 624 hours, or 26 full days. I have also been on the kidney transplant list for six months with probably another 2 years to go.


You know what? I have never been happier. Being stuck in a chair has given me the time to write that I could never seem to find. It's slow going because my brain fuzzes out, but I already have 75 poems to my name and a finished book manuscript. I also know what truly matters to me. I have wonderful friends, a loving wife and an insane dog.

Best of all, I no longer feel temporary about myself.

Shocking Discovery on the Value of Poetry

March 18, 2009

In my last installment, I made a pretty long-winded and lofty argument about the value of poetry and how you could find it for free everywhere. I now refute my entire argument. I am now forced to admit: Poetry is not free. In fact, poetry can set you back a pretty penny. How?

I now present to you the poetry of one Elvis Aaron Presley.


Yes, ladies and gentlemen, for the estimated auction price of $4,000-$5,000 dollars, this little gem can be yours. See for yourself at gottahaverockandroll.com. While we may debate the "quality" and "maturity" of Mr. Presley's literary offering, there's no doubt this light verse from Elvis will inspire the financial investment of a lifetime.

Why would someone be willing to invest hard earned dollars for these specific poetic words?

Many people think "The King" may have been the embodiment and resurrection of Jesus Christ. At the very least, Jesus and Elvis share startling parallels. Now before you send me angry emails, click here for compelling evidence of this truth.

Some of you may be disturbed by the graphic nature of Elvis's poem and find it cruel and contradictory to the teachings of Christ. It is my assertion that hidden in the subtext of the poem, or perhaps even water-marked into the edges of the paper, only visible under ultraviolet light, there is an additional verse where Elvis's next act is to:

"tenderly touch a peanut butter and banana

smeared finger to the sweet birdie's head

and raise the feathered fucker from the dead."

Sadly, I will never be able to test this assertion, because I don't have $5,000 to purchase the original work. My apologies for leading you astray. Alas, I will never doubt the monetary value of poetry again.

Words thus Worlds: A Brief Case for Poetry

March 5, 2009


I finished up and mailed off a blizzard of journal submissions and contest entries for my poetry last month. It was an annoying amount of effort that interfered with time usually spent writing this blog, my newsletter, and even (gasp) poems. I sent off everything from a single poem to complete book length collections. I was very busy. You can check out the poem titles by clicking on the "Word Clouds." Pretty cool? You can make your own at http://www.wordle.net/. See, I'm already giving you great value for investing a couple of minutes reading my blog.

Now, I'm going to give you even more amazing bang for your buck and perhaps even change your life. Bold claim, I know. Just bear me out. Here's my thesis: For the investment of 1 minute a week, you can save time, money and enrich your life. Sound too good to be true? How is this possible?

Simply read a poem a week. It's really cheap and easy to do. 99% of the world's poetry is absolutely free. In fact, you don't even have to do anything special to see it. You will see poems pop up on busses, billboards, in newspapers, magazines, blogs, at church, in programs, novel introductions and an infinite number of unexpected places. You don't have to do a darn thing, except open your eyes and read.

Why you should read poetry? I'm going to answer that question for you right now. I'm so serious about this subject that I'm going to break out the Billy Collins. Please take 20 seconds to click on Billy and read...are you back? Did that poem nail your feelings about poetry, amuse you, make you nod, or even transport you back in time to an unfortunate highschool English class? Amazing, isn't it. A complete adventure in 20 seconds. What's great is that your mind supplied the images that accompanied the words. You co-authored the poem in your head while reading it. What's even better is that because you participated, the images are completely relevent to you and your life. You were the director of the movie that played in your head. You didn't have to suffer the vision or punches of a clod like Uwe Boll.

Here's another example, a wonderful poem called "Prodigy" by Charles Simic. This takes, at most, 60 seconds to read. Not convinced? What's in it for you? For the investment of 1 minute, you will receive the riches of an entire World War Two movie without sacrificing a scintilla of depth or meaning. You don't have to invest a butt-numbing 2 hours and 44 minutes. Just a single minute. What's even better is that this investment can permanently alter the way you see the world. After reading "Prodigy," perhaps the next time you see someone playing chess you'll remember the kindness of others in terrible times. Perhaps when you see a boy at the store clinging to his mother's coat, you'll wonder what you would do to protect a child's fragile innocence. This is the stuff that enriches one's life experience and touches one's bare humanity.

To summarize: poetry is everywhere and it's free. For just a few seconds a week, you can immerse yourself in an entire world that you help co-create. Poetry combined with your imagination can change your perception of the world. All I'm asking for is your commitment to read one poem a week. Please try it. It's a good value. And once you start, I bet you find that poetry is like Lay's potato chips. You can't stop at just one.

Bad Post

February 10, 2009

So, it's been a few weeks since I blogged. I apologize for my absence. My goal to blog twice a week has turned into once a week. Unfortunately, I haven't even kept that commitment. I've been focused on work and retaining my job in this ludicrously harsh economy. You see, the salary is nice and necessary but the health insurance is essential. Without health insurance, I would be completely broke within a few months.

Let me dimensionalize this for you. Life sustaining dialysis costs over $10K a week and in the past year, I've rolled up about $800K in medical costs when you include surgeries and hospitalizations. Most dialysis patients average two hospitalizations every year. So, this is pretty common for my situation and for the foreseeable future. When you routinely rip open bills that have a $60K bottom line that say "not covered," well...you shit yourself. Then you spend hours on the phone with your insurance company who routinely tests your mettle and will to live with a ticker tape parade's worth of bureaucratic paperwork. It's a freaking part time job keeping them paying, getting approval for meds, etc.

Here's the secret. Insurance companies don't make it easy for you, not because they're grossly incompetent, as is the widely held view. No, it is because they would prefer that you die. At a minimum, they want you to give up trying to get them to reimburse. At best, they want to pass the expense along to someone else, preferably the government, your employer, the doctor, the medical facility, and especially you. Why aren't health insurance companies more efficient? Because there is no monetary incentive in it. There's no profit in streamlining the process. Make no mistake, the vast majority of health insurance companies are profitable.

Why do I tell you this? Why tell you that I'm working for the health insurance, how I'd be completely screwed without it, and then bash it like an electronics store window in a riot? It's simple; the system is broken and must change to benefit ALL of us. I don't like being a drain on the medical system and the economy, but I know something you most likely don't. It's only a matter of time and circumstance before you end up in my shoes, or worse, in some uninsured person's shoes. It's a part of the human condition, living a mortal life. Despite what you tell yourself, you will grow old (if you’re lucky), suffer an unspecified amount and die. It's all much closer than you think.

I urge you to hold President Obama and your local senators and representatives accountable for their campaign promises. The medical system must change. Your life and dignity depend on it.

Good Post

February 10, 2009

It was my birthday last Friday. I’ve never been a big birthday celebrator. I know some folks revel in the attention and turn their birthdays into weeklong celebrations. However, I never enjoyed the attention. That’s odd, isn’t it? This comes from a guy who devoted twelve years of his life to acting. Everyone knows actors are yin-yang swirls of raw, untenderized insecurity and mammoth delusional ego. The only way I can explain this contradiction is that the attention I received as an actor was always for playing a role or inhabiting a character. I’m actually fairly shy in my Jon persona. Every year on my birthday, I slink into the background and pretend it is like any other day until the queasiness passes.

However, this year was different. This birthday had the effervescence and sweetness of warm spun cotton candy. What changed? Friends, there were a couple of times last year when it wasn’t a gimmie that I’d have another birthday. Sheesh, that sounds melodramatic, doesn’t it? The truth is I spent a fair amount of time in the hospital. Between dealing with kidney failure and then later discovering a giant blood clot that spanned from my right jugular to my elbow, there were a couple of times...let’s just say it was more serious than my wife and I let on to friends and family. It’s such a cliché, but there’s nothing like a little glimpse into the abyss to make you appreciate life. So, I’m very happy to celebrate a birthday and grow older. It feels damn good.

Organ Trafficking (not the fun kind)

January 19, 2009

It is Martin Luther King Day. He is a personal hero of mine. I can't watch his "I have a dream" speech without getting electric shivers and wet eyes. It is also one day before the inauguration of President-elect Barack Obama. The historical significance is not lost on any of us. Change is palpable. It is as if a stranglet has escaped the Large Hadron Collider and is spinning, infecting and consuming all rational matter. It's damned exciting. I made my satellite-high expectations clear for Mr. Obama's speech in my last blog. We're all waiting for the national policy, health care, and economic reforms to come. However, I'd like to appeal for one more change.

America must stop all illegal organ trafficking.

Not the change you expected me to appeal for? In Newsweek on January 10th, Janeen Interlandi reported in her story "Not Just Urban Legend" that human organ trafficking has made its way to the U.S. of A. It's a very informative article and I highly recommend you read it just for the horror factor.

I'm just going to cut right to the chase. There is severe tension in the system. As of 3:28 PM EST, there are 78, 197 people on the kidney transplant waiting list. In many parts of the U.S., the wait for a cadaveric kidney can be up to 10 years with a national median waiting time close to six years. The average patient on dialysis lives 5-7 years. Not very promising. Add to this the fact that a donation from a living person can extend the life of a transplanted kidney from 11 years to 19 years. This creates all the conditions for a thriving black market. Indeed, that's what happening. What's shocking is that some surgeons and transplant centers are pretending not to notice and do not ask questions a when a living donor emerges from thin air and doesn't speak English. I can tell you from personal experience that transplant centers review donor candidates rigorously. So, to turn a blind eye is deliberate. Why on earth would they do this? It is simple really; no one wants to see someone die waiting for an organ transplant.

The ethics here are complicated and not as black and white as they might appear. The basic question is...what would you do to stay alive? Especially if you have the means to pay. Is this fair to those that don't have the means? In contrast, if you are desperately poor and have no hope to improve the life of your family, what do you do? The world endlessly debates the right for people to treat their bodies as commodities without resolution. I must remind you that I am just at the beginning of this journey so I can't pretend to know the abject desperation a person must feel as their life dwindles away waiting for a transplant. I also live in a rich country. I have no idea what it is like to go hungry or have little hope for the future. However, I think it is important to take a stand based on my personal ethics.

Here it is: organ trafficking is evil and repugnant. I would rather die than deprive another person of their opportunity for life. I would rather die than exploit another who has no alternative means.

You see, I also have a dream. I have a dream that the world will wake up and the rich and poor will be treated equally. I have a dream that people will sign up to be donors in order to make sense of what could be senseless waste. I have a dream that healthy and generous heroes exist and will continue to give the gift of life. I have the dream that you will join me and sign up to be donor at http://www.donatelife.net/.

As for me, I will wait for my turn and hope to live.

Words Matter. Context Matters More.

January 14, 2009

I admit it, I have high expectations. When Barack Obama takes the oath of office next week and gives his inaugural address, I expect oratory fireworks. I expect words that spark and pulse and burn hot across the curtain of history, setting the damn thing afire. I expect to oooh and ahhh and let the embers slow fade into my memory. This occasion demands greatness and so do the people.

Narrative has a fascinating article called, "First Words: The Best and Worst of Inaugural Speeches." It's ironic and prescient. I highly encourage you to take a look. Just a taste:

George H. W. Bush, January 20, 1989

There are times when the future seems thick as a fog; you sit and wait, hoping the mists will lift and reveal the right path. But this is a time when the future seems a door you can walk right through into a room called tomorrow.

...and apparently a recession and the first gulf war

George W. Bush, January 20, 2001

We will build our defenses beyond challenge, lest weakness invite challenge. We will confront weapons of mass destruction, so that a new century is spared new horrors.

...he told us his agenda in the first few lines of his inauguration.

Words matter, folks. They really do. However, using beautiful or powerful words out of context just makes you a jackass. This brings me to Rod Blagojevich, the soon to be ex-governor of Illinois.

Literary Douchebag of the Week

Allow me to rant here. This Chia Pet-haired and clay-brained doofus did the world of poetry no favors this week. After the Illinois senate voted to impeach him, he held a press conference. The content of the press conference was laugh-out-loud ridiculous. But he really pissed me off, when at the end of the press conference, he delivered his parting shot. He quoted the classic poem Ulysses by Alfred Lord Tennyson. He took the ending of the poem out of context and used it as a defiant rallying cry for his continued fight against his usurpers. Disgraceful.

If you haven't read this poem, you should. It's amazing and you will immediately find it familiar. In the context of the poem, Ulysses is near the end of his life. He finds ruling tedious and recognizes that his skills are a poor fit for the job. He proudly passes his kingdom on to his son, Telemachus. Ulysses is wistful and reminiscent of his times as hero. He rails against the indignity of old age and death. He craves to set sail for one final adventure with old friends. How is that for a little context? It's certainly not a rallying cry for an embittered and corrupt public official. I guess co-opting a classic poem is small change for a man who'd sell a senate seat to the highest bidder.

Just a warning, poetry is not a cloak of invisibility that you can hide behind. Poetry is an invisible cloak that reveals what's within.

Poetry Sucks!

January 5, 2009

Does the video below reflect your opinion of poetry?

Ah, the slow motion raspberry. I bet many of you found this little video to be vastly more entertaining than a poem. Former Poet Laureate Ted Kooser writes in his book "The Poetry Home Repair Manual" that "of every one hundred readers of The New Yorker, ninety-nine prefer the cartoon over the poem." Sound familiar? I can feel you shaking your heads in agreement. Why is this? And as a poet, why on earth would I bring this to your attention?

There are many long-winded arguments, erudite laments, and detailed analyses of the "state of poetry," but I think it comes down to this...ninety-nine percent of you are stupid.

No. Wait. That can't be right. (insert winking smiley face here)

Serioiusly, how many times have you read a poem and said to yourself, "I don't get it," or "what the hell does this mean?" Does the word "Poetry" give you a flashback to high school and some dreaded English teacher droning on about a symbolism and the art of interpretation? The truth is that reading poetry is too much damn work for most people. There are many faster and transparent ways to communicate experience.

The problem is that poets forget about audience. They write to themselves or for the benefit of other poets. Don't get me wrong, there are a few folks out there who pride themselves on their ability to get to the core idea of a poem no matter how difficult it is. However, I'm here to tell you that a poem shouldn't be a puzzle. Good poetry is not designed to make you feel stupid. Does this mean I believe poets should dumb down their work? Of course not. I'm just advocating that poets need to work a little harder to meet the reader half-way.

The best poems offer an alchemy of intimacy between the reader and the poet. Let me explain. It's like cooking. How many times have you followed a recipe to the letter? If you are like most people, not very often. If you're making roast chicken, you may modify any number of ingredients based on your preferences, dietary needs and life experience. You may reduce the salt, use fresh rosemary and lemon thyme, cook the bird upright on a beer can or with root vegetables and other aromatics...it's up to you. At the end you'll still have roast chicken, but it will reflect a combination of the recipe, your experiences and choices.

In the right circumstances, the poet's carefully chosen words combine with the reader's experience and imagination. This creates a unique experience that reflects nuances of the human condition and complex emotions that are hard to replicate in other art forms. A good poem that connects with a reader can change their perception forever.

Here's a good example of a beautiful short poem by former U.S. Poet Laureate and Pulitzer Prize winner Mark Strand. It's called "The Prediction." I think this poem is accessible yet very rich and reflective. Enjoy.

Do you hate poetry? Let me know what you think.

Personal Archeology

December 16th, 2008

I've been doing some excavation. I've been digging into my old works. Why would I do this? I can safely identify a couple of reasons. One: pure morbid curiosity. I've been writing since I was fourteen. I wanted to see if I could discern the original spark of talent that I was so convinced I had. Two: I wondered what it was like for me before I knew I had kidney disease. Was I a less serious person? Was I blissfully happy? I was diagnosed with kidney disease in 1986 at the age of nineteen. So, I had about a five year window when I was writing to see what my life was like before.

So what did I learn? It's complicated. I learned the Jon of twenty-five years ago is an absolute stranger. I have memories like anyone else, but they seem to be from someone else's life. I know that sounds odd, but I am convinced I wouldn't recognize my teen self on the street. As for this idea I may have been "happier" when I was younger or before I knew I had kidney disease, that didn't turn out to be true. Not at all. Look at the poem on the right. It is a fairly straightforward poem that chronicles what it's like to be in the process of growing up. In my case, way up. The language choices in the poem reveal that my internal processes were not without a flare of adolescent ennui and drama.

While this younger Jon may feel like a stranger, we have more in common than I thought. We both have a flair for the dramatic. We both write to help ourselves unscramble our feelings. We both feel like we are "in progress" and growing. Today, I am in the middle of this end stage renal disease to transplant journey. My pain is mostly physical rather than emotional. However the situation has given me the opportunity to imagine, much like when I was younger, what my life will be like "after." I feel much like I did when I was younger that I have the unique opportunity to invent myself (or in reality re-invent myself). I feel there are new possibilities ahead. I feel my life has untapped potential. However, there is one significant difference between me and my younger self. Thoughts of the future and what I might become made the young Jon quite anxious. Most surprisingly, today, I am hopeful.

I've posted a couple older pieces of work on my website http://www.joneseaman.com/. "Inheritance" is a poem and "Absolute Zero" is a short story. I wrote both over twenty years ago. I think these pieces show where I came from and how far I've travelled. Perhaps they even reveal that raw spark of mythical talent as well.