David E. Oprava is an American-born poet who has been published in over seventy journals, has one full length book of poetry, and is currently pursuing a PhD in poetry at Swansea University, UK.
BIO.
Born in America at a time before Disco had reared its soulless head and Vietnam was still burning holes in the American heart, I grew up in a time of bad clothes, worse music, and the death of a nation's innocence. I always thought that time shaped me as a child cast into a plastic world that was still trying to find its own boundaries after the paradigm of the 50's dream collapsed. Growing up in the Northeast I was cosmopolitan in the sticks and an uncouth erudite amongst the many who had lost ambition. At a callow age I ran to New england to be schooled by the seasons and to absorb the ministrations of the liberal, well meaning blue bloods. Suckled there I came away long haired, free thinking, and imbued with a sense of infallable destiny. In some ways, that has never left me. Although, now in my fourth decade, I see the world through a more mature, tainted, broken, and misting lens.
I always ran away from things thinking I was speeding towards something else. I bored easily. I am a restless person. I have met a few others of my ilk. They are animated creatures whose passion is movement. Their curse is never being satisfied, with anything. Although, I have been taming this core aspect of me, discovering a slower, more turgid pace that rankles at times, but also allows a newer inside to emerge. I feel that having kids forces you to do this. They are a blessing in a screaming beasts clothing.
I used to shy away from circles, seasons, and repeat performances in the same venue, foolishly thinking that a new time and space would always be preferable. Such is the nature of youth and a voracious disposition. Yet, as I slow, I see so much more with each pass and come to recognize the changes a day, a month, a year can make in the face of the commonplace. I am looking for home and as my mind spreads, so does my sense of that place. It is where I am, where I grow, and it becomes me as I become it.
I am running in infinity loops towards expression. I taught, for years, and this was a wonderful outlet for creative tendencies and knowledge. But to truly express, I needed freedom and I find this in art and writing. To wirte is to be in a time machine where hours pass and legs cramp and it is five hours later than it should have been, the time is gone, and there are words placed together in such a way that has never been done before. That is magic. That is human existence.
The greatest mistake a teacher makes is to stop learning. I cannot imagine a day where I do not see, hear, smell, and think a new thought, even if it is painful. As a teacher I strove to hear the minds of my students ticking and rumbling towards realization as it uncovered notions that they never knew were their own, but having been found, they are taken into possession and cherished for their uniqueness. I am still a teacher and student. My words and art are informing me about me. It is a wondrous thing to be.
The more convoluted life has become, the more I find myself looking for one thing: beauty. Not necessarily in the classical forms of poetry, flowers, art, etc. but rather in the mundane, the dark, the everyday. I like the concept of beauty being more than just a perception, rather a feeling. If we see something that is beautiful, it is dependent on the light to illuminate it for us. My quest is to find those things that need no light to radiate and no sound to be heard in ones mind as they explore the essence and innate nature of what is beauty.
Maybe it is when the senses overload to the point of bliss.
Perhaps it is just nothingness.
David E. Oprava is an American-born poet who has been published in over seventy journals, has one full length book of poetry, and is currently pursuing a PhD in poetry at Swansea University, UK.
BIO.
Born in America at a time before Disco had reared its soulless head and Vietnam was still burning holes in the American heart, I grew up in a time of bad clothes, worse music, and the death of a nation's innocence. I always thought that time shaped me as a child cast into a plastic world that was still trying to find its own boundaries after the paradigm of the 50's dream collapsed. Growing up in the Northeast I was cosmopolitan in the sticks and an uncouth erudite amongst the many who had lost ambition. At a callow age I ran to New england to be schooled by the seasons and to absorb the ministrations of the liberal, well meaning blue bloods. Suckled there I came away long haired, free thinking, and imbued with a sense of infallable destiny. In some ways, that has never left me. Although, now in my fourth decade, I see the world through a more mature, tainted, broken, and misting lens.
I always ran away from things thinking I was speeding towards something else. I bored easily. I am a restless person. I have met a few others of my ilk. They are animated creatures whose passion is movement. Their curse is never being satisfied, with anything. Although, I have been taming this core aspect of me, discovering a slower, more turgid pace that rankles at times, but also allows a newer inside to emerge. I feel that having kids forces you to do this. They are a blessing in a screaming beasts clothing.
I used to shy away from circles, seasons, and repeat performances in the same venue, foolishly thinking that a new time and space would always be preferable. Such is the nature of youth and a voracious disposition. Yet, as I slow, I see so much more with each pass and come to recognize the changes a day, a month, a year can make in the face of the commonplace. I am looking for home and as my mind spreads, so does my sense of that place. It is where I am, where I grow, and it becomes me as I become it.
I am running in infinity loops towards expression. I taught, for years, and this was a wonderful outlet for creative tendencies and knowledge. But to truly express, I needed freedom and I find this in art and writing. To wirte is to be in a time machine where hours pass and legs cramp and it is five hours later than it should have been, the time is gone, and there are words placed together in such a way that has never been done before. That is magic. That is human existence.
The greatest mistake a teacher makes is to stop learning. I cannot imagine a day where I do not see, hear, smell, and think a new thought, even if it is painful. As a teacher I strove to hear the minds of my students ticking and rumbling towards realization as it uncovered notions that they never knew were their own, but having been found, they are taken into possession and cherished for their uniqueness. I am still a teacher and student. My words and art are informing me about me. It is a wondrous thing to be.
The more convoluted life has become, the more I find myself looking for one thing: beauty. Not necessarily in the classical forms of poetry, flowers, art, etc. but rather in the mundane, the dark, the everyday. I like the concept of beauty being more than just a perception, rather a feeling. If we see something that is beautiful, it is dependent on the light to illuminate it for us. My quest is to find those things that need no light to radiate and no sound to be heard in ones mind as they explore the essence and innate nature of what is beauty.
Maybe it is when the senses overload to the point of bliss.
Perhaps it is just nothingness.