On This Bus
it just occurred to me
everyone on this bus
is stark naked
~ Ric Masten
Naked In This Life
And they say that to deal with stage fright
to picture your audience naked
when in life we are all naked the day we are
born and we die and leave earth naked
and ever bit of life we are naked
hiding beneath the facade of silks
and velvets and jeans and flannel
And I should be scandalized by picturing
you naked as the day you were born
but instead I find myself more intrigued
wondering how you measure up to
Just recently I picked up a book of poetry by poet Ric Masten titled “Stark Naked in ’69 and ’79”. The first poem is the one above. I LOVE that poem because it’s hilarious. And it’s so true. I like truthful poetry. Which is why I rave about Billy Collins. His is so truthful.
I wanted to read off poetry to people today. I was inspired by the Poem in Your Pocket Day, and I picked Burning the Old Year by Naomi Shihab Nye. You can read it HERE on page 14. But I’ve never had luck reading poetry to people. As Mrs. B said, this is what makes poets weird. Pardon me, but while I think we are weird, showing off poetry is no different than art. But it does me no good to point this out. So I am sharing it with all of you. The poem is rather brilliant in my opinion.
I’ve tried reading poems to my family and it’s rather pointless. They stare at me or don’t get it and wander off like I’m the strangest thing in the world. I always thought that I came from a different family and that I don’t fit here. The only evidence that I belong is that I happen to look like both my father’s grandmother and my mother’s aunt. So clearly I have the genetics. But other than that……
Creative people have a different world they inhabit. I was thinking about this in regards to the passing of Prince. The man was so talented, but I’m sure in a lot of ways, he was alone. Creative people, and I mean really creative people have a hard time with the real world. I would never throw myself into the super amazing creative person, but maybe I am and don’t know it. But I know that I have some weird sh** that goes on in my head. And I get stuck in my head for days. And I don’t want to be around people, and I have ups and downs and moments. Am I suicidal or clinically depressed? No, but I have my moments of downs. We all have it if we are creative. And trying to get people that are not quite as creative as you to understand this… well they just don’t. They really do not understand what is going on in your head. So, while I don’t know the scope of Prince’s passing, I can understand that it might not have been all sunshine and daisies.
All of this has no relationship to the poem. Pretty much it focuses on what does that very good looking guy look like without clothes… because yes, we’ve all done it. (though I never compare anyone to the David statue…. )