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FOREWORD
For the discerning reader, the following selections might seem random – at first; but not necessarily so when looked at through the prism of my aesthetic and philosophical principles. I can only hope that this introduction will bridge the gap between what is particular in my experience, and what is universal in my outlook on life as expressed in my writings.
I remember how the qualities of the mind, which in the West are considered spiritual, were overlooked in the society of my youth. When not ignored, they were ridiculed on the basis of a materialist ideology. The intellectual climate of Soviet-controlled Poland during my early years prompted me to work and play on the outskirts of mainstream society and inevitably triggered my interest in that most intimate voice of self-expression, poetry.
The freedom of individual expression though is just one of many different aspects of human creativity. What it means to me must therefore be put in the perspective of literary standards in order to be properly understood. Poetry – as I have discovered – is a medium best suited for maintaining the balance between the two realities with which I live; one, being the inner reality of the mind, and the other, the reality of self-preservation in the world as it is.
I left my homeland with the intention of never again crossing the Iron Curtain; however, long before that, as an emerging Polish poet, I rejected the imposed rationality of Socialist literature. I declared myself a Romantic (mostly on moral grounds, but also, by convention). By declaring myself as such, I was able to put more emphasis on my own subjective truth, away from the voices of totalitarianism reflected in Polish literature of the time. I was able to reject as well, the canon of new realism, which for me meant little more than elaborate imitations of earlier socialist models. I am a Romantic in opposition to pompous artificiality and suffocating babble in the poetry of my day, but not necessarily, to the constraints of literary Classicism.
I admire the balance and intellectual restraint attributed to Classicism. I feel inspired by the classical model of excellence as applied to contemporary poetry, even though the rules that govern my work are as far as can be from the notion of classicist imitation of anybody including the old masters. As a Romantic, I speak against the romantic principle of unrestrained self-expression. I speak for the romantic freedom to chose one's own logical path of growth in a democratic and honourable manner, in a world striving (with similar conviction) to eradicate discrimination, hatred, and indifference.
Richard Tylman
(First published at richardtylman.atspace.com on July 8, 2007)
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To the People
of the Carnegie Kitchen * It's been years since I have dined
at the Carnegie, first, quite amazed with
what I have been offered for as little
money as I might have had. Still,
it's a place that remains
the best kept secret of our
inner city squalor as if nothing
has changed for the worse
while everything must change
according to the
Western economic model. And,
as the faceless bureaucrats from afar
(like horse thieves of
the wild American West) go on
robbing the most vulnerable
of their own countrymen
using self-serving bills, enforcement,
and repetitious cutbacks
to all social programs
beginning with welfare,
it is only thanks to the gentle
women and men who volunteer
their own invaluable time
that compassion remains the exclusive
property of people, or else
one would have never come across
the people of the Carnegie kitchen.Let me ask you a question,
dear citizen of the Western world.
In the face of the new,
systemic hatred resulting
in wide spread homelessness and
the desperation of so many, how many
of you on the way to dinner would
have the will to
rub shoulders with the motley
crew of prisoners of cocaine,
deprived of hope, and
their prison guarding pushers
who bear the mark of death upon
their darkened faces?
They are the ones
keeping guard at the
entrance for as long as
I can remember.
They've been doing it better than
the Carnegie's own walkie-talking
and rather frightened security. One ought to have a good reason to
want to pass through the gates
of hell just like Dante did.
The reason being the search for proof
that humanness remains
the sole property of people;
and so, the people
of the Carnegie kitchen
are there mixing such proof
into the proverbial pudding.
That is why they deserve
the best of God's blessing. It would not be much of a mystery,
I guess, seen from a standpoint of
a staff member, why the Carnegie
kitchen stands out as the only relief
service in this city with
a new-age attitude towards
the feeding of its patrons, and as such,
serving protein food
for the animal lovers known
for not wanting to eat those
whom they consider to be friends.
Garden platters are offered
to our self-proclaimed herbivores
who wouldn't be caught dead
wearing funny looking headgear.
Carnegie's menu offers choice for those
deprived of choice in many other
aspects of their urban lives and
gives back purchasing power
to those who are bright though
otherwise powerless. Like democracy, which is food
for thought, and like political
freedoms, being the sustenance
for more than the political fringe,
the Carnegie kitchen
provides more than the taste
of normalcy in an
abnormal climate of public
restraint for the governments' gain.
They claim, we are free to believe
in anything we choose but
the legislature. The ringing sound of porcelain
travels across the floors
of the Carnegie Centre,
making me think of the old trams of
Krakow and their passengers, as colourful
as the regulars of the Carnegie kitchen.
The only difference being
the background sound of my native
tongue, soft and shimmering
as it used to be.
The sounds of the Carnegie kitchen
bring back the memory of home,
no longer far away
from where it used to be. The people of the Carnegie kitchen
are the ones aiming
for the status of miracle workers
in these hardening times. They come and
then move on to face the challenges of
their personal lives,
thus giving space for the others
to gain similar experience
once in a lifetime.
I dream how much saner
our New World would have been
if stern civil servants, while
still in the making,
could spend a day
behind the counter of
the Carnegie kitchen
where characters are shaped
as gently as the spinach wraps.
And yet I know that it will
never happen since
the timeless defence of
what makes humanity special
depends on those who offer to give
of their own free will.
Such are the people of the Carnegie kitchen,
volunteering invaluable time,
time and again, serving
an exquisite proof
that humanness remains
the sole property of people.
Richard Tylman
Acknowledgement
First published in: Richard Tylman, Imaginary Lovers, and Other Poems,
Aspidistra Press, 2001, Vancouver BC, 1st ed. soft cover; pp. 55–59
See also
* Author's commentary on meaning
* A poem review by David Fraser
* Pictures from the performance at the Festval Gala
* External link to YouTube video of Tylman's reading
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Stash MoneyYou've got to stash money.
Best, put it in a tin can; fill'er up slowly.
Roll it up, pile it up; 'til you're safe.Don't tell anybody. Stash it away slowly
in tin cans, for a rainy day. Bills of twenty, as an example, would amount to
five to a hundred dollars – five thousand of them
to a hundred thousand dollars. It's easy to remember. In the central provinces – so I hear – farmers are used to
hiding their tins in soil, under the living houseplants,
in flowerpots there, on a window sill;
but the traveling thieves already know
about it all too well – so, don't
even think about it. The thieves come only
when there's nobody around, and all they do is:
pull-up your gladiolus and your marigolds,
and the blooming geranium,
and the hyacinth, and the lilies, and all the like,
one after another – and another. Than
disappear into the balmy day without a single sound. Here's a good idea for those coffee lovers.
You'll need some contact cement, and
an aluminium percolator – better yet,
a big tin of Maxwell House
fine ground coffee. Half full. Empty it. It will have
to accommodate not just your cash container,
but also, provide enough space around for
manoeuvring. Wash it and dry it inside to a shine. Around the bottom edge of the small one
put three drops of glue neatly,
like it is advertised on television – press it in
once. Inside the big one – that is.
For the best results, put remaining ground coffee
over the top. The more tins of money you collect, the more inventive
about hiding them well you'll have to become,
and that's nice. And remember also;
the more tins there are in your collection,
the less likely your chance
of losing it all
at once.
Richard Tylman
Acknowledgement
First published in: Richard Tylman Performs for Wax Poetics,
Aspidistra Press, 2000, Vancouver BC, 1st ed. soft cover; pp. 4–5
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Letting Go of the Past It is frightening to let go
of the past. It is like letting go of something
that is precious. That includes the feeling for
everything that has been, and also, for what was
once a solid identity built on deprivation.
Letting go of the past
must be done gradually and with
special care;
one old belief at a time
and only one fear.
Letting go requires
a fair exchange for whatever else is
precious. Each fear replaced with the absence
of fear like space being cleared for some
future happiness to fall into place.
It is a rare occasion though,
to get a chance to tap into
a world of wonder
where fear is not the only
game in town.
Even if precious, the familiarity of fear
must be replaced with unfamiliar comforts.
Literally, one human being
at a time.
Richard Tylman
Acknowledgement
First published in: Richard Tylman Performs for Wax Poetics,
Aspidistra Press, 2000, Vancouver BC, 1st ed. soft cover; p. 19
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Mothers
No parent would ever accept the blame
for contributing to the apparent
population explosion.Parents,
those who reach out to discover
the uneasy secrets of our Earthly presence –
the original, primeval forces of life against all odds. It is only through a birthing experience, however,
that man's heterosexual companion
becomes a testimony to the importance of progress
in civilized living;
hence, the meaning of the planting of seeds
in addition to gathering or scavenging,
then trading, and the marketplace, ranching of farm animals,
and finally, the politics of industrial exploitation of
resources for the purpose of satisfying the needs
of our growing communities.
All efforts much needed.
Richard Tylman
Acknowledgement
First published in: Richard Tylman, Selections from an Old Shoebox,
Aspidistra Press, 1998, Vancouver BC, 1st ed. soft cover; p. 3
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The Tears
I have seen capable people
shed tears of despair, and
in reprisal, torment
other human beings for those tears
of their own weakness.
That is not the way to seek relief.
Turning tears of despair into bursts
of redirected anger
won't help a grown-up resolve
their own misfortune.
Thus, being upset is like
opening the gates of an emotional
prison and walking into it,
in shackles of dissatisfaction.
The tears of despair are like walls that keep
the resolve out while on the way in.Even the happiest of people cry
from an overload of sadness caused
by the delay in having their needs fulfilled.
True happiness does not stop the tears
from falling. That is perhaps why
happiness is so hard to define beyond doubt;
although, the ways
leading to such an ultimate destination turn
away from the cries of despair. There are the tears for
mistakes made in our one-time assessment
of what our basic needs might be.
It is because we must assume
such needs long before
we get to find out what they are –
and aren't they blunt
in contrast to
what we've been made to believe? There are the tears of loneliness that
flood the streets of our city
as if brought on by a curse
out of some Coast-Indian legend.
They make me think of all
the gentle hearts that can't be fixed,
like your own gentle heart,
frequently mistaken
as a sign of weakness.
Your tears make me think of
my own heart yielding,
and for such an act, being
so eagerly mistreated. Passing moments of happiness,
made to extend upon one another,
cease to be momentary; but,
make for a pattern
that helps everyone cherish
even the smallest of achievements
and hope for more of the same
to build a happier lifetime. Happiness – by far – is the most honest
of feelings, and as such, it can't
be chemically triggered or measured
against somebody else's standards.
I'd say, it is worth
the presence of tears
if tears are what it takes to
treasure moments
of happiness.
Richard Tylman
Acknowledgement
First published in: R. Tylman, Imaginary Lovers, and Other Poems,
Aspidistra Press, 2001, Vancouver BC, 1st ed., pp. 41–43
Copyright © by the author
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