happy tofurkey day!

yes, you've read that right. i don't eat anything that can run, swim, slither, fly, crawl or cower in terror from my knife and fork. every year for the thanksgiving holiday anna prepares a lot of pumpkin pies [i'm in heaven!] and a tofurkey which is exactly what it sounds like. . .made from tofu, along with a couple of vegetarian dishes such as spinach pie, which has become an annual tradition for almost as long as anna and i have been together, made with filo dough, spinach and feta cheese, and some traditional holiday side dishes like mashed potatoes and stuffing.

but but but, reading jean vengua's post about work echoes my own thoughts. i hardly discuss my day job because it is far outside of poetry and tho i like my work i don't find it very interesting to write about. but today i'd been thinking about the proper job for a poet. and i know what it is, since everyone complains about their jobs, even the jobs we covet, such as a tenured gig at a university, because no job is exactly what we think it might be and comes with its own set level of bullshit. therefore, the proper job for a poet is any job that is not too soul-killing, provides enough time to read and write and pays well enough.

i'd been thinking about poetry and work today not just because i'm a non-academic [meaning i don't teach at all] poet and think that university gigs are not, and should not be, the only occupations for writers. i can get rather animated about my belief in this. i'd been thinking about poetry and work because i'd just finished today joseph torra's autobiographical novel call me waiter - see a review here. torra spent over 25 years in the restaurant business to support his obsessions. a very readable book that highlights the life of writing, most writers will recognize their own obsessions within these pages, and the absurdity of a wild industry. having logged a couple of years myself in restaurants i laughed aloud with many of the character sketches, but it was not a job i liked doing. in fact, i hated being a servant. but then that was when i was still in my early 20s. i might think differently now regarding employment and responsibilities. at any rate, as a sign of my age i kept thinking as i read of torra approaching 50 and working as a waiter and bartender, what did you do for health insurance?

so as jean says in her post about her day job, we should consider ourselves lucky for our jobs. but to a point for in work we are expected to sell our souls. at least to some extant. when i was working toward my ma i managed a recycling facility which meant i was knee deep and head down in trash 9 plus hrs a day. i'd drag myself off of that heap of shit to attend lectures at night. one night a professor who later became a friend was complaining about his job. he must've had a couple of bad meetings. he sure was having a bad day and he let us know that the job of a professor is not some romantic sinecure. and his tirades told me that no one is happy, at least some of the time, doing the jobs we must do for money. i was mad and wanted to yell at the professor that his job, from my perspective was pure privilege while my hands were sticky working with trash and recyclables all day and to top it all i had to take my stinky ass from my long day to hear him lecture for 3 hrs at night. but i didn't. not because i'm magnanimous or any shit like that. we all hate our jobs, sometimes. no matter the job.

so i don't know how to end this ramble. this ain't a criticism of work or jobs or professors or anything like that at all. i've reached the age to know that having work is a good, no matter what that work entails. as long as it doesn't kill ya. as long as it leaves you human to support your obsessions. the best job for a poet is any job. that you see fit.