On Retreat

I have decided to stop publishing poems in this space for an unspecified period of time.

In 50 years of writing, I have found most satisfaction in using my talents to serve others: in the promotion of a theater where I once worked; in the ghost-writing of 50+ memoirs; and most recently, in a 75,000-word history of the American province of the Oblates of the Virgin Mary, which I am final editing, pro bono.

Writing poems in this space is another breed of cat. It serves—whom? what exactly? and what in me? Too often it becomes performative, this business of turning “Prayer into Poetry.” Is it nothing but “vanity publishing”?

I was going to wait until my birthday (a pivotal one) in two weeks, but I read some words of Therese of Lisieux this evening, and they decided me on stopping at once. Make what sense of them you wish:

It is more in accord with humility to write nothing about oneself. . . . It is more salutary for you to meditate on [the great graces of your life] in the memory rather than on paper.

I am not closing this Substack; the archive will remain open; but my (free) subscribers will not be receiving poems weekly from me—until perhaps they do.

Thanks for reading.