The Helicopter Pilot
A wilderness poem
A few months ago, on a whim, I began sharing “orphan poems” with my Facebook friends. These are poems that I sent out dozens of times, but that never found a home. I’ll share one of those with you today with as little preamble as possible. Maybe you’ll take a moment in the comments to tell me how this poem speaks to you before reading on to hear more of my thoughts on it?
Two contradictory things are true of the writing life: mastering the craft requires a lifelong apprenticeship, yet there’s often nothing meritocratic about what gets chosen for publication. Sometimes it might be your theme more than your art that catches an editor’s eye, as was true of the rattlesnake poem that I shared recently. If a work that you believe in gets rejected enough times, it can make you doubt your literary sensibility. But every writer has to trust their own taste above all or they’ll abandon the craft.
I was thinking about this while listening to a Q&A with
on . Sophia made the point that some of the most frustrated writers on Substack are those who curate themselves too much, imposing arbitrary standards from the publishing world or from other platforms onto their independent newsletter. If you write about politics, like , Substack allows you to share your love of chickens, as well. Joyce initially thought she’d have to launch a separate newsletter for the chickens, but it turns out that her readers want it all.Like Joyce, I started this project thinking that my eclectic tastes were a little self-indulgent and that eventually I’d figure out what this series was really about. Pick a lane, as they say. But I never was able to do that as a teacher. Which did I love more, teaching Phillis Wheatley in an American literature survey or introducing Accounting majors to literary techniques in a Personal Essay course? I never could say. And even though I’ve tried to reorganize this site lately (maybe you’ve noticed the new layout?), I can’t seem to whittle down the categories. Maybe it’s time to make peace with that. Connecting seemingly disparate things is the core of the liberal arts, after all.
If I really lean into the ethos of this platform, one day I’ll stop seeing any of the poems that meet my personal standard as orphans. What a gift that would be.
“The Helicopter Pilot” speaks to my own feeling of living between things now, searching for ballast in the unknown. But I think Tom was speaking from a similar sense of rootlessness in our Tuesday exchange. How do you true your own axis when the institution around you is crumbling? How do you defend literature if no one can agree on what it is or which texts are essential? How long can you sway in midair, guided by nothing but your taste and the core of who you know yourself to be?
I’ll close with a special note of thanks to my paying subscribers. You are an essential part of how I keep this ship in the air.
If you are a regular reader on the free plan, I’m really glad you’re here, too. Maybe it’s been a while since you looked through the archive, but here are a few highlights of what you can get behind the paywall for less than the cost of one craft beer per month.
The Big Quit (My first feature for The Chronicle of Higher Education, which tracks the impact of the Great Resignation on academe, specifically the departure of tenure-line faculty like me.)
Industry needs an education in the value of a PhD (Elissa Gurman, of the Canadian consulting firm MacPhie, recalls how a paid internship led to a senior role at her company and explains why she believes PhDs already have all the skills they need to succeed in non-academic roles.)
Branding will be the end of us (Like my popular essay applying Václav Havel’s critique of Communism to higher ed, this essay examines the roots of the word “brand,” which is synonymous with “stigma” and “burn,” to explain how branding forces the corporatized university to use reductive, violent, and dishonest marketing strategies.)
Great poem. Years back, I worked on a screenplay adaptation of Young Men and Fire for Warner Brothers. Hung out with Missoula smoke jumpers for a couple days (at headquarters not in the woods!).
Beautiful wild land images, Josh! I love the contrast between the precarious, wavering helicopter, seeming too lightweight for the forces of air drafts and rock and dangerous power lines, and you grounded with the burned cedar and the known work of sawing and heaving wood “For now.” The poem is full of uncertainty, but there is presence in the work of “now.”
I appreciate the many paths you allow for yourself on Substack. I wonder when I try new things here whether I am sacrificing coherence or burdening my site with too much complexity, but I remember that I’m here to venture new things. Still, it’s hard to shake the academic sense that all details “relate” tidily, or the commercial drive to “brand.” Your work is always thought-provoking and satisfying!