‘On Connection’ delivers a message worth subscribing to
Author extolls the importance of finding meanings in the little things
Image by JACK PORCARI
“On Connection” by Sunday Times-bestselling author Kae Tempest.
For musician, poet and playwright Kae Tempest, 2020 was a year to ruminate on the small details of life and find meaning in the little things.
In their 2020 book-length essay, “On Connection,” Tempest reveals the dangers of a polarized society out of touch with the deeper elements of life. Drawing from personal experiences, excerpts of Carl Jung’s “The Red Book” and William Blake quotes, Tempest argues that creativity — in any form we define — is a pathway to self-discovery, unity and most importantly, connection.“We have lost each other under this selfless system of hyper-competition,” they write. “Music is the great invigorator. Artists don’t make their work to inspire your collusion, your submission or your consumption of their ideals. They serve a purpose that is higher. Bigger. Deeper. Which is why you feel higher, bigger, deeper as you connect with their output.”
Tempest expresses two prominent themes that call back to Jung’s “The Red Book.” These are the “spirit of the times,” or the egoist elements of oneself, and the “spirit of the depths,” or one’s inner expression of uniqueness. Tempest calls on readers to channel the depths by trying to feel the world around them a little more: they recommend taking a moment to notice the sunset, observe how the people around them are walking in tandem or listen to the sound of life around them:
“So
Put your phone down.
Listen to the birds.
Build a fire in a quiet place.
Pay attention to the details when you kiss your lover.”
Tempest says these small moments give our spirits the guidance they need: “There are many ways to access a more resonant place. It starts by acknowledging that everything is resonating.”
The first time I read “On Connection,” I felt a sudden wave of relief, as if Tempest was accompanying me during my moments of triumph and despair. The book felt less like an essay and more like a roadmap to mindful living; it teaches the reader how to navigate a world that is complex and exploitive, while still being in touch with the beauty of the present moment.
This book-length essay is perfect for anyone looking for a change of pace, something that will make readers think about life in a way they wouldn’t have otherwise. Tempest’s writing extends beyond the page, speaking to the spiritual and human truth that at our core, we are all one.
Tempest meditates on their past as they create a poignant and empowering narrative of self-acceptance. The author artfully weaves their story into the narrative, which opens doors for readers to reflect on the content on a deeper level.
Tempest delivers on their promise of making readers feel a higher, bigger and deeper connection to the truths the author spoke of.
Pay attention like a poet
and you will find a story. Each twig on a bush begins to be the story itself, providing a basic truth from which you can exaggerate, but you’re still working with the basic truth.
This morning I learned of the passing of one of North America’s greatest poets, novelists, and singer/songwriters of our time. Like many others who listen to public radio, it was just a few days ago I was listening to KCRW’s Chris Douridas interview Cohen after the release of his latest album, “You Want It Darker.” At 82, he had not been in the best of health, but such news always carries an element of surprise. Click here to listen to the Chris Douridas.
writing about down and outs skid row alcohol relationships with women
German American raised catholic abused shy, alienated teenage acne desperate days of the great depression
attended Los Angeles City College art, journalism literature flirted with the far-right
grew bored failed a physical and psychological exam classified 4-f
“on a Santa Monica Monday.” first story published at 24 grew disillusioned quit writing “on the sidewalk and in the sun”
ten-year drunk bleeding ulcer nearly died begin writing poetry
first wife small-town Texas poet decapitated in India religious zealots obscure cult
traumatized by wife’s death resulting in a powerful series of poems “I hold fast to me, that’s all there is”
series of muses a daughter ten years with post office wrote a column “notes of a dirty old man”
quit the post office decided to starve full-time writer a loner unable to live alone “because I’ve got a pocket full of dreams….”
— kenne
Charles Bukowski in Ham On Rye writes of Henry Chinaski, his raw voice alter ego having a beer with Becker:
“. . . I’d like to be a correspondent in Washington, D.C. I’d like to be where big things are happening.” “Washington’s crap, Becker.” “And women? Marriage? Children?” “Crap.” “Yeah? Well, what do you want?” “To hide.” “You poor fuck. You need another beer.” “All right.” The beer arrived.
On the same day the Blues world lost one of its own (Mean Gene Kelton) , I received word that one of the past Writers In PerformanceEmily Dickinson panelist, Susan Bright, long time poet / publisher (Plainview Press) succumbed to liver cancer. Susan was author of 19 books of poetry, three of which have been recipients of Austin Book Awards. As editor/publisher of Plain View Press since 1975, she had published 100 books. Her work as a poet, publisher, activist and educator has taken her all over the United States. Montgomery County Literary Arts Council founder, Dave Parsons shared in an email how Susan adored swimming at Barton Springs, “. . . which of course, made her my blood-sister…she was a real force for poets in Texas…here is a poem she wrote which has been published on Facebook as a fitting tribute:”
Mother Fish
The Swimmers,
the real ones
are clear
and emerald
like the water
that pulses
up from the center
of the planet
spinning
and cold.
They
blend with the water
so fast
you don’t see them
except when
they get in
or out–
they are invisible
once they’re
moving.
They dry off
quickly
and go
but the essence
stays with
them,
a glow
just below the surface
of the skin–
emerald light.
~Susan Bright – from “House of the Mother”, Austin Book Award, 1994
Decoding Poetry
Poetry,
what is it?
Is it not all things
we experience —
Feelings?
Thoughts?
Ideas?
Wisdom?
Beauty?
Music?
Art?
In human existence?
Yet,
some claim
the words of poetry,
as if anointed
announcing to the world,
“I know the code!”
Poetry is not a code,
allowing entrance
only to a few
fettered and packaged
for the scholarly.
If I experience
my life
in the words of another,
is it poetry?
For it is I
who holds the code
to my existence.
In the end,
there is no right
or wrong answer –
Poetry is like dancing,
if it feels good,
do it!
— kenne
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