Find your saxophone
"Follow your bliss. Find where it is and don’t be afraid to follow it." –Joseph Campbell

If you’ve read 37 days before, you might have picked up on my love affair with actor Johnny Depp. Beautiful, talented Johnny. Quixotic, funny, odd, quirky Johnny. Did I mention beautiful? Ooh-la-la.
There’s no need to alert the authorities: I don’t really think about Johnny or Stick Girl too awfully much until I hear the name Johnny, watch “Pirates of the Caribbean” again or see previews for “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” which starts on July 15th, not that I’m counting the days or anything.
But imagine now a thinking girl’s Johnny Depp and you’ll approximate my passion for former United States Poet Laureate Billy Collins. Heartened by the fact that his first book of poetry was published when he was in his 40s (hope springs eternal even though I missed my first two deadlines for writing the great American novel—in 1985 and 1995, respectively), I was introduced to him by candlelight at an outdoor dining table under a tin roof pelted by furious torrents, the remnants of one of those last hurricanes (scary making), by my friend Gay who, in order to be heard above the rain, had to yell-read Billy’s most fantastic love poem, its verses certainly a rich cousin to Tina Turner’s brilliant “What’s Love Got to Do with It?” in its approach, and all in a beautiful Southern accent under the influence of fine wine and food beautifully prepared by our friend Rosemary, a woman who can make cooking grits look like an exquisite love affair, a sensual, slow, hot tango of hominy and butter.
His (back to Billy, stop dallying at the grits) is a sardonic, quixotic, odd, sensual, beautiful way of looking at the world, with a twist. Hmm. Mr. Depp in poet form, perhaps? Life comes full circle, doesn’t it?
While recently stalking researching my new love online, I found the text of a commencement speech that he delivered at some lucky college in which he urged the “very sharp looking Class of 2002” to “not graduate,” but to always continue learning. The whole speech was witty and memorable and written just for me; there are several pieces of it that I’d like to write about sometime: “Don’t graduate” and “Write in the margins” are two such future ponderings, perhaps. But for today, what stood out was this riff on modern culture:
“What is truly disappointing about television is to realize that in its vast landscape, there is only one character I would hold up as a role model to you—the Class of 2002—a single character, a lone beacon. I am referring, of course, to Lisa Simpson. I would hold her up for her fierce curiosity, for the courage of her numerous convictions, her outspokenness, her sensitivity to environmental issues. Here is a character who will not graduate—not because animated characters never age—but because, for her, life is a learning experience. And then there is her patience in a family environment most inimical to learning—patience in the face of her father’s profound density, her brother’s cruelty, and even, yes, she must be included—her dear mother’s vacuousness. And let us not forget her commitment to the saxophone, regardless of the results. What I am saying, I think, in this regard, is find your own saxophone. There is one out there for each of you graduates. Your saxophone might be growing orchids or taking photographs of clouds—it might be learning sign language or driving an ambulance. Or your saxophone might be the saxophone itself—that would make things very simple. In any case, find your saxophone and play what you feel on it—even though it might result in your getting tossed out of the school band. That’s the lesson, I think, of Lisa Simpson. The only thing that worries me about her is the pearls—I just could never figure out the pearls.”
Unrequited? I’ve no idea what you mean.
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Billy, Sweet Billy
Go ahead. Read some poetry. Aloud outside in a hurricane. Three poems to ponder by my sweet Billy: Forgetfulness, Reading An Anthology Of Chinese Poems Of The Sung Dynasty, I Pause To Admire The Length And Clarity Of Their Titles and Nostalgia.
