Body Positive Book Reading Club
Spiritus Pizza and Other PoemsBy Dennis Rhodes
Vital Links Media, Provincetown, Massachusetts, 2000
I started becoming a "real" writer on the day I realized that no one in my lifetime might ever read or appreciate what I've written. And I decided that was just fine! My personal belief in God and my own private, nurturing spirituality gave me a sure and unshakable sense that someday -- perhaps after my death -- people would embrace my poetry. And somehow I'd know it. This was an extraordinarily liberating revelation! It helped me calm and assuage my healthy ego and it helped me seek out my very own place, however modest, in the highly charged, enormously creative constellation of poets. I began to find my own voice when I accepted that no one might be listening. So what. The need to express was paramount. I express myself as readily as I break into a sweat on a summer day. I eat. I sleep. I love. I think. I feel. I provoke. I react. I write poetry. That's life.
Rejection -- another important force in my life! One day something or someone mystical whispered into my ear the elemental truth that how I handle rejection will color and shape my identity as a man and my fruitfulness as a writer. Kipling's line always resonated with me: "If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster/And treat those two impostors just the same." I came to realize that my talent is just as much a part of me as my eyes, my laugh, the pesky lisp that happens when I talk, the slight, almost childlike bounce in my walk. Again, my innate spirituality helped me realize that my talent is a gift, to be fearlessly expressed and as fully realized as possible. If a poem I've written somehow finds its way into a reader's heart -- and makes a difference -- that may be no thanks at all to an editor who read it, rejected it, and sent it back to me.
Only to have me send it right back out to another editor who might be more wise (or dumb?), more forgiving, or simply more willing to take risks, to give someone a break. I have a profound yearning to hear the word yes. It's my favorite word. If you use the word yes at least three times more than you use the word no, then you're probably a happy person!
I live in Provincetown after being raised in the New York area and after a 17-year career in the famously cutthroat PR business. I had the privilege -- and it was fabulous let me tell you -- to live on the Upper West Side in the late-seventies and all through the fabled eighties. I was a kid when I moved to 51 West 76th Street in 1979. Life was lived at a breakneck pace. I stayed out till all hours, drank like Ernest Hemingway and loved like a male Holly Golightly. I will never apologize for romanticizing that time and place -- as rich and vital, as exhilarating and as heartless (sometimes) as Isherwood's Berlin. It was a mere ten years after Stonewall and gays were making quantum leaps socially and culturally.
Then, AIDS. A scourge so cruel that it not only killed, but diminished the lives of those it left behind. Incalculable damage. Convulsive grief. So many lives blown off course, including mine. I doubt I would have ever left the huckstering business without HIV. I would not have found Body Positive and I would not in time have transplanted my life and spirit to Provincetown. To date, I have stood and stared the virus down. It's an unfinished story. It's a memory-in-progress. It's a poem, irritating and defiant, with a life of its own, making my fingers tremble. Demanding to be written.
Back to the April 2001 Issue of Body Positive Magazine.
This article was provided by Body Positive. It is a part of the publication Body Positive.