27 Sep Love and Collaboration
Last week I attended a memorial at Beyond Baroque, the literary arts center, for a dearly-loved member of the L.A. writers’ community. The man who died was a popular member of the community, not necessarily because of his work, but for his friendliness, outgoing nature, and the fact that he never had a bad word to say about anything or anyone, a rarity in this motley circle of introverts, outcasts, and poets.
People read testimonials and gave performances in his honor. Several referred to him as a “great poet,” which of course he was not, but this is one of the functions of community: it values your place in it. It applauds your work when no one outside the circle could care less. One of my writing mentors once told us that most art on the planet has been created in small pods by artists/literary artists producing work for each other, and has been done anonymously and thus not come down to us. This creation is going on all over the world, and she saw these acts as vitally important as a stand against capitalism.
In the media for this threshold we learned that love, atunement, and collaboration can be portals into spiritual and exceptional human experiences. Everyone at this memorial was being confronted by the portal of death. The grieving widow read a poem immortalizing their fated, eternal love, which had been predicted by a psychic. There were open expressions of grief, most surprisingly from the men. The group of guys he had belonged to as a younger man and had hung out with until the end told stories of their early escapades. I was inspired by this to go home and start a piece mythologizing my own earlier collaboration with a group of women.
The community is cliquish – always has been. The type of writing I do, which actually sells, is considered the lowest rank – not literary, not really art. Poets are the highest in the pantheon, then short stories writers, then novelists, then literary critics, and last, the dreaded “new age self-help.” The crowd was all white, mostly a boys’ club. Even here with poetry, a decidedly non-alpha pursuit, the men were involved in preening and showing off their macho. These men are not sexist, but they certainly enjoy and benefit from their privilege.
I bought an acquaintance’s book to be supportive. We paid our respects to the wife. We had wine and cookies and made small talk. It was good to have this ritual of community to go to when our friend died. Even if we’re on the outskirts, the like-minded gathered together in community, supporting each other through this passage that will open soon enough for us all.
© 2023 Catherine Auman
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