Over the past few days I’ve received a few compliments about the quality of writing in this journal. These came as a surprise, and I’m very gracious for the undeserved praise.

My first web site in 1994 had as its sub-header a famous quote by the late musician and philosopher, John Cage:

I used the same quote in 1996 when I began my Geocities site. I was rather fond of it, as it made me feel special. The clever reader will note that this phrase is no longer to be found in this journal.

Looking back, I see that I have misunderstood Cage. A t the very least he speaks differently to me now. What was once a license to be artistically arrogant is now an admonishment against that self same arrogance. What I say is, in the grand human scope, of no import. Only my confidence in my voice grants it value. Poetry, and all art, is separated from everything else we do only by the frame of meaning that we choose to place around it.

These days, I have replaced my arrogance that everything I produced was art with an almost reactionary belief that nothing I produce is automatically art. Art is not mine to define. I still take delight in creating things. I do it for the visceral joy of creation; if someone else finds it to be artistically appealing, I am pleased, but my act of creation does not imbue the status of art. I take pride in my work, but it is the humble pride of a craftsman.

One will note that my new sub-header is the first three worlds of the Aeneid of Virgil. It translates from the Latin to “Of arms and the man I sing.” I am the man, and the arms I wield are my wit and my intuition. But this life of mine is not a great work of epic poetry; the story is long, intricate and tedious; the outcome is uncertain. However, I do have something to say, and will sing this tale so long as I am able, and leave it to others to decide its merit.