I Almost Gave Up Being A Writer

by Harley Bell

5 poems that kept me going

I’ve given up writing more times than I’d like to admit. 

Life gets busy. Bills need paying. Routine sets in. Then it slowly grinds the imagination to dust.

But dust is enough to make us sneeze. Sometimes, it takes an allergic reaction to remember our dreams.

Breathe deep. These poems are a pattern interruption. 

I’ve always come back to writing. It’s been difficult every time but these poems are like lighthouses in a storm. 

They kept me going when I felt like giving up. 

Howl by Allen Ginsberg

“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix.” — Allen Ginsberg

I was 16 and my parents wanted me to become a plumber. They told me there was good money in the trades. There is honour in helping people flush away their shit. Instead, I chose to sift through the slurry and pour it onto the page. For better or worse, I wanted to become a writer.
 
I’d never read a good poem in my life. I thought poetry was pretentious. During high school English class, we spent long, dull hours, dissecting the meaning and metaphors of old white dudes. Then a friend of mine introduced me to Howl by Allen Ginsberg.
 
It blew my teenage mind. His poetry was visceral, angry, lyrical and weird. I felt for the first time that someone else saw through the bullshit of the world and found beauty within it. This meant everything to me. 
 
Then I read about the court case to ban the book. This fuelled my hunger.
 
I transcribed the entire poem in an A3 notebook. This could have been the moment I irrevocably, disappointed my parents. It was the moment I dedicated myself to the arts.

The Breeze at Dawn by Rumi

“The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don’t go back to sleep.” — Rumi

I was 28 and getting up at 5.30am. I wasn’t doing this by choice but necessity. I wanted to be an entrepreneur. I was tired of being broke while working for someone else. I started my own café. 
 
I honestly thought this was a good idea. Early starts are only one of the brutal realities of small business owners. 
 
I hardly wrote during this period of my life. But I watched many sunrises from behind the coffee machine. 
 
A customer introduced me to The Breeze at Dawn. He recited it in the early morning light. Those words felt like a secret breeze to reignite the dwindling flame inside myself. It helped me remember there was something beyond my daily grind.
 
Don’t go back to sleep. Writing would be waiting for me when I finally woke up.

Sleeping in the forest by Mary Oliver

“I thought the earth remembered me, she took me back so tenderly, arranging her dark skirts, her pockets full of lichens and seeds.” — Mary Oliver

I was 30 and I hadn’t written anything serious in years. It was the middle of the night. I was sitting by a swamp on the outskirts of a festival. My friends were partying on a paddock somewhere beyond the trees. 
 
I was alone with my flute, lantern and book. I flicked through my copy of Devotions by Mary Oliver. I was into bibliomancy at the time. I closed my eyes and kept flicking the pages. I stopped on Sleeping in the Forest. 
 
I started reading out loud. Then I stood up on a fallen log and read even louder. I lost myself inside the words.
 
Light came through the trees. Voices followed. Suddenly, there was a group of strangers watching me. They shouted something about not being able to hear me. One of them ran over and handed me a megaphone. I didn’t question it.
 
I recited the poem. They received my offering and thanked me. They disappeared into forest. I felt like a seed being watered. It felt like it was time to start growing poetry of my own.

Nothing gold can stay by Robert Frost

“Nature’s first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold.” — Robert Frost

I was 30 and three days deep in the forest. The festival was still raging. I told my girlfriend about my poetic experience with the unknown beings in the night. This conversation become an invitation for her to share a poem.
 
She reached into her memory and recited Nothing Gold Can Stay. We’d been dating for years and I didn’t know she had that in her brain.
 
This reminded me that the aspects of ourselves that receive loving attention, will thrive. By allowing myself to be vulnerable with those strangers in the forest, it empowered me to hold vulnerable space for someone close to me. By participating in the poetic aspects of myself, it allowed the poetry in others to come alive. Poetry begets poetry.

Start close In by David Whyte

“Start close in, don’t take the second step or the third, start with the first thing close in, the step you don’t want to take.” — David Whyte

I was 32 and studying to become a publisher. My café had collapsed and I was finding a new career path.
 
Each week, someone in the class had to write an inspiring quote on the whiteboard. I knew my turn was coming up. I was deep into the course by this point and was thinking about dropping out.
 
I incubated my ideas over the weekend. On Monday I wrote Start Close In on the whiteboard. 
 
I wanted to inspire those around me but I ended up inspiring myself. This poem reminded me why I was studying to be a publisher in the first place. I wanted to make books. I wanted to help people become writers.
 
Have you ever come close to giving up on a dream?
What helped or hindered you? 
I would love to hear your story.
 
Till next time,
Harley.