Inspired by a Marge Piercy Poem

vintage bluebird trading card

I headed out to my Thursday painting group this week only to discover that it had been canceled, and I was not informed.  Rather than stew over this inconvenience I headed out for a latte and a browse through a local used book store, where I found a good copy of The Moon is Always Female, poems by Marge Piercy.  This one stood out for me.  When people say that I am talented (this doesn't happen every day by any means) I always think that a decent painting is more the result of years of working at it than some trait I inherited from my mother or great aunt, like straight hair or green eyes.  Anyway, I liked the poem.

For the young who want to

by Marge Piercy

Talent is what they say

you have after the novel

is published and favorably

reviewed.  Beforehand what

you have is a tedious

delusion, a hobby like knitting.

Work is what you have done

after the play is produced

and the audience claps.

Before that friends keep asking

when you are planning to go

out and get a job.

Genius is what they know you

had after the third volume

of remarkable poems.  Earlier

they accuse you of withdrawing,

and ask why you don't have a baby,

call you a bum.

The reason people want M.F.A.'s,

take workshops with fancy names

when all you can really

learn is a few techniques,

typing instructions and some-

body else's mannerisms

is that every artist lacks

a license to hand on the wall

like your optician, your vet

proving you may be a clumsy sadist

whose fillings fall into the stew

but you're certified a dentist.

The real writer is one

who really writes.  Talent

is an invention like pholgiston

after the fact of fire.

Work is its own cure.  You have to

like it better than being loved.