I'm probably the only guy that actually hated poetry for the first half of my life then started writing it. I've been writing poetry non stop for five years now. Growing up I lumped poetry in with all that other sappy romantic nonsense.
When I decided I wanted to write more than short stories and move on to the big leagues with novels I started a novel writing course with an online school. Seemed like a cool idea. They'd charge my card once a month for fees and sent me a huge starter box. In the box I got books and reference software (this shit was so old I'm still convinced they were transferred from floppy discs. Not the small ones everybody had stacks of, I'm talking about the discs that you could literally fan yourself with.). Barely two months into the course my life here in Atlanta took a turn for the shit and I decided to leave this place and my girlfriend for Virginia for a year to better myself and spend time honing my craft.
In the one place I thought I could find peace and solace I was once again reminded of how badly life could skull fuck you. I couldn't keep up the payments for school and let that shit go. I was upset about it, but in the end it wasn't that big of a deal. You see, the lessons were for novices. Somebody who had never so much as written a fucking letter to their grandmother and then decided they ought to write a book. I had already learned how to write by, you guessed it, WRITING. It was here that I wanted to give up writing completely as it seemed to be a waste of my time, but as a true artist knows you don't just quit. Not without feeling like your world is caving in on you because your artistic cement is gone.
My Dad always encouraged me to keep a journal and since I was young I always did. That idea wasn't flying with me anymore. I wanted to write and get my feelings out, but a diary? No. Then, I thought about poems. What if I could get feelings and stories out in short little bursts? Ten minutes a day (I learned real quick a twenty lined poem can take months to complete) and I've purged myself while writing something I could show others. I was excited and my mom showed her support as she's a huge poetry fan. I played around, experimented, and kept at it. Glad I did because I want to slap myself whenever I find the poems of my first year. That shit was awful, but I got better. With my talents growing I came to the realization that it may actually help to read some poetry. Promising myself if I came across any of that soft, pillow talking bullshit I'd quickly move on.
My mother owned a collection of works by Keats, Shelley, and Percy. At the beginning of each book was a biography of one of the poets. These guys were rock stars! They lived the life I have only dreamed of (mainly being adored by countless women). I'm not a fan of their poems. I think they were very talented writers, but I couldn't relate to a damn thing they were talking about. Knowing that I had so much in common with these now famous names kept me inspired. I was still trying to find my voice in poetry when my part time job at a video store payed off.
While tending to the drama section I found The Libertine. I had never heard of this movie, but Johnny Depp and John Malkovich headlining was all I needed to pick up the box and inspect. The synopsis was something like "the life a playboy writer" blah blah blah I was sold. That night I was mesmerized to learn of the long dead poet that loved fucking and drinking on a massive scale. It's like we were kindred spirits spread out over time. Yes, it's stupid and cheesy but I'm trying to explain how I felt at the time. Anyhow, the next day before work I went to a local bookstore and had them order me whatever books by him they could find. A few days later I was treated to John Wilmot The Complete Poems. I was psyched to see that our styles and some of the topics were similar (back then I wrote about the joys of having a mistress as did he so many years ago).
I kept looking for new old poets to discover and came across Bukowski (interesting person, but reading his stuff is like work), Anne Sexton (who suffered from depression much like I still do to this day), and various others. So, that's how I became the poet I am today and yes you can find your heroes long after you start your craft.
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