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Poetry Thrives on a Mystery
What We Hold No Longer is a collection of poems that circle around memory, aging, identity, and the haunting void that lies beneath it all. What inspired you to write this particular collection of poems?
I’ve recently become an avid reader of psychoanalyst Adam Phillips. Last year, one of his books introduced me to Jacques Lacan. Specifically, how our subconscious impacts language, and in turn, how we use language shapes desire. For a poet, what could be more delicious to explore? Ineluctably, even mentioning Lacan brings up his theories on the Void (The Thing) and religion. This, in turn, led me to Lacanian scholar Richard Boothby (Embracing the Void). Along the way, I also read a book by Phillips on our ambivalence towards transforming our lives (On Wanting to Change). Transformation is a particularly important topic at this stage of my life. What I did not anticipate in reading this book was the evocation of so many memories. As a pediatric psychoanalyst, Phillip’s description of childhood, particularly the excruciating years of adolescence, flooded me with things I’d long forgotten (eg, seeing my grandfather’s corpse at age 9, the inchoate sense of frustration, and seeking revenge on my parents’ reputation with a can of red spray paint, etc.).
Can you share a bit about your writing process? Do you have any rituals or routines when writing poetry?
I’m trying to understand my writing behavior. I appear to have a natural rhythm, whereby I’ll write a dozen poems over a month or two and then go silent for just as long. During the quiet months, I read more and pay attention to what I see and listen to: all the things popping up as thoughts and feelings. The poems “The False God’s Lullaby” and “New Year’s Day” were brief glimpses of people, just a few moments of an image that resonated deeply, and unexpectedly.
What moves me from outside triggers something poignant nesting deep inside: “The I of my other who moves silently with me” (The False God’s Lullaby). Also, I love editing. Paul Valéry once said: “A poem is never finished, only abandoned.” I think he meant you can always refine and improve a poem. I try to limit my revision window to six months. Once a poem reaches structural stability (ie, I know what I want to say and the confines to say it in), I put it away for several days or weeks at a time. It’s important to understand that during initial composition, the poem’s neural map is being built using high stores of neurotransmitters. This is how we learn. However, it also prevents us from seeing inherent weaknesses when we’re still trying to get our thoughts written down. Taking a break for days or weeks reduces neurotransmitter stores. This removes the blinders to our writing, so we can see problems more readily and find better ways to say what we’re trying to convey.
How do you approach writing about deeply personal or emotional topics?
I think it is important during initial composition to just let things rip, because that is likely to be the most truthful. However, there is a balance to be struck. I’m reminded of a phrase from the Upanishads: “The path to salvation is narrow. It is as difficult to tread as the razor’s edge.” I view confessional poetry as an attempt to achieve psychic salvation. To shy away from powerful emotions creates a sense of falsity impossible to ignore. Yet, in the passion of writing, we can also say too much. Poetry thrives on a mystery, on what is left unsaid. That’s part of the art form I’m still working on improving.
How has this poetry book changed you as a writer, or what did you learn about yourself through writing it?
I have the sense in writing What We Hold No Longer that I’m beginning to mature as a poet. I’m not sure anyone else would agree. But there was something about the Lacanian cycle of poems that shifted my writing in a way I haven’t fully grasped. At this moment, I can’t imagine writing anything more profound or better composed than those poems. Time will tell. Every book I’ve written so far has enriched my sense of self and given me a sense of being more at peace with myself. Something that had eluded me before I’d written The False God’s Lullaby.
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Such topics have been the foundation of his poetry explored in his previous works and have been expanded upon in “What We Hold No Longer.” As in his other works, poems are grouped together in themes. These themes approached from a deeply psychic perspective and include: personal transformations throughout life, existential encounters with “Nothingness,” the rise of fascism, loss, and the realm of an interior life (both our conscious narratives and our river of unconsciousness). What Gedaliah refers to as “the I of my other, who moves silently with me” (The False God’s Lullaby).
The poems in this current collection maintain characteristics that reviewers of his previous works have consistently noted. That “Gedaliah seamlessly blends philosophical depth with artistic expression, offering a deeply reflective journey through identity and human complexity, striking a perfect balance intellectual exploration and emotional resonance.”
A Means of Self-Healing
The False God’s Lullaby is a collection of poetry and prose that explores the beauty and tragedy of the human experience, taking readers on a journey through your memories and emotions using in-depth imagery. Why was this an important collection for you to publish?
I’m entering the last phase of my productive life when I’ve found myself having reached the end of so many other journeys. Although I’ve been writing poetry since 1990 (when I first became interested in it), it wasn’t until I had reached an existential nadir so-to-speak in June of 2023. New poems just seemed to flow out of me, and so I went back to edit others I’d written over the years that I thought were suitable for publication. Something (more accurately someone) inside me desired to speak. It’s the time in our life when we wish to leave something that might survive our absence.
Were there any poems that were particularly difficult to write? If so, why?
If you’re asking, “Was it difficult for me to expose my inner life?” the answer is no. I began writing poetry after my profound experiences at the Esalen Institute in Big Sur. I’ve viewed my poetry as a means of self-healing (if you’ll excuse my use of a rather tedious California cliche).
How do you know when a poem is truly finished?
That is an interesting process question. It’s a matter of reaching a nodal point of comfortable satisfaction. This generally occurs within a week or so when the nagging feelings cease (eg. “Something’s not working but I can’t figure out what it is yet.”). Afterward, there’s a period of minor word-smithing that goes on for months. But finally, I have to tell myself to stop. There’s a point when “fine polishing” begins to weaken the poem’s impact.
What is the next book that you are working on, and when can your fans expect it to be out?
I’m already deep into investigating and writing my third collection of poetry (and perhaps some prose) focused on the works of Jacques Lacan and others on topics such as the connection between nothingness and spirituality and transformation. It’s largely a continuation of my interests in the multiplicity of selfhood. The working title is The Shadowed Crossing from a stanza in Rainer Maria Rilke’s Sonnets to Orpheus.
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The poetry is presented by topics that move like moods. The collection begins with contemplations of what the author calls “interior worlds.” This comprises over half of the poems and are the first and last titled sections. Interior worlds are expressed in such poems as “Memory,” “Confluence,” and “Longing.” This is followed by “Closeness and Distance” with poems describing experiences of both sexual (“Absolution”) and emotional intimacy (“Endearment”), as well as withdrawal (“Disillusionment”). The mid-topic sections move into the darker subjects of mortality (“Wandering,” “Big Sur”) and despair (“Awaiting the Pandemic”). Pulling back from these dark explorations are the poems found in “Lightness of Being.” These range from metaphorically comedic sexuality (“The Drummer’s Advice”) to a gathering with friends (“Friday Dinner”). “Interiors Worlds” are returned to with a prolific, seven-part poem exploring the external and internal aspects of familiarity (“Home”) and ends with the poem from which the book is named (“The False God’s Lullaby”). The final section is a small collection of prose pieces that add context to many of the poems. It also ends with a work from which the title poem was created.
Two major themes form the basis of internal worlds. First is the notion expressed by Lou Andreas-Salome’ of primitive consciousness arising in-utero. The poet fuses this with Soren Kierkegaard’s notion that we internally possess a sense of “the eternal.” The second theme ponders the implications of evolutionary neurobiology: that we are largely governed by the ancient powers of our animal brain (eg. “Limbic, paralimbic structures”). What Freud called “The It.” These are explored in the poems “Confluence,” “The Ancient Within,” and “Otherness.”
Despite the deep, dark themes of life that pervade many of these works, the author endeavors to find for himself and his readers how these encounters unavoidably lead to a sense of endearment and gratitude for life itself. In this, the author reveals the influence of his most beloved poet, Rainer Maria Rilke; for whom the poem “Wandering Rainer” was written.
Believing in My Dreams
In The Many Colors of My Heart, you share with readers a collection of poems focused on life’s ups and downs and the power of love. Why was this an important collection for you to share?
Basically, The Many Colors of My Heart, is the story of my life. And, as with any life, there have been struggles, and when emotions are at their peak, I don’t just write because I want to, I write because I need to. Some of the poems are about my wife, Nancy, and how she has the unique ability to pull me from the depths of despair. But I’m not always looking within, In “A Grandfather’s Lullaby,” I put myself in my father’s shoes, who at 83, has the struggles of old age. “Never Time Enough” is how he must’ve felt when my mother was at death’s door, and “Time Stands Still” is her looking down from Heaven.
A couple of the poems stem from the romance novel Nancy and I wrote. A few are pure fantasy: “He Loved Only Once.” I wrote “The King Comes Crashing Down” after we lost everything. And finally, towards the end of the book, I wrote to myself that no matter how hopeless it sometimes seems, somehow it’s all going to work out as long as I keep believing in my dreams.
Do you have a favorite selection that you find resonates with you?
“A Million Miles Away” is me telling myself and my wife that although it seems we’ll never get there, as long as we don’t give up, we will. I also like “He Loved Only Once,” because it’s pure fantasy.
What is the one thing you hope readers will take away from your book?
Whether it is love you’re looking for, or a dream of a better life you’re chasing, it can be yours, as long as you keep believing.
Can fans expect more from you soon? What are you currently working on?
My wife and I have just published a wonderful romance novel titled, Timeless Pages. Timeless Pages is available on Amazon and wherever else books are sold. We will also be converting it to a screenplay, and with any luck, you’ll be able to see it in theaters in a couple of years. I also wrote the cover song that goes with it. Coincidentally, it is also called Timeless Pages. It is the perfect companion book for The Many Colors of My Heart. Parts of some of the poems appear in the novel, and some of the poems were derived directly from the novel. Timeless Pages is set in the 1950’s; the story centers around a young woman named Diana as she struggles with saying goodbye to her childhood sweetheart, Michael, as he goes off to fight in the Korean War.
Michael asks, ”Will you wait for me, my love?”
“I will wait for you, I promise,” Diana says.
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LITERARY TITAN 