Whose jeep this is I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He can not see me standing here
To watch my car fill up with snow.
My little car must think it queer
To see my eyes pop wide in fear.
Boston drivers take the cake
To park like that and disappear.
I give my fisted keys a shake
And ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the creep
When I release his parking brake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
I have no means to stop that jeep
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I penned this while waiting 30 minutes for the gentle soul who blocked me in at my studio. (And no, I did not leave it on his windshield!) Writing it was more fun than expending lots of angry energy, calling a tow truck, or pacing. And it fulfilled my commitment to write something every day.
Strangely, it also let me rediscover the elements that make the parent poem (Robert Frost's Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening) one of my all-time favorites. Even more fun, I forgot that I intended to leave the studio at all, and opened up an opportunity to do a little more "serious" work.
Anger carries a great deal of energy. We all know its power to destroy. Fewer of us are aware of its power to create.
Using anger to create is not about creating angry art; rather, it is about redirecting the energy in a positive, constructive way. Acknowledge the anger. (I couldn't go where I wanted to go when I wanted to go there.) Identify the source. (I felt diminished by someone else's lack of consideration.) Separate what needs to be done from what would feel good in the moment. ( I didn't really need to leave the studio for another 4 hours, so I left a note.)
Retain your right to communicate, but abandon the desire to retaliate. What is left is usually an intense need to "do something".
So "do something". If at all possible, first make yourself laugh, because joy will reconnect you to your body and your humanity. Then allow yourself to enjoy more serious play.
Stuck in the car on the side of the road and exhausted all avenues for rescue? Paint shapes in the fog on your windshield. Take photos with your telephone. Write sonnets on gasoline receipts. Make up a song. Turn your coffee cup into an extraterrestrial being. Or model a chair you can make from a single sheet of plywood. Start that business plan you've been deferring.
As Dan Gioia wrote in his article The Transformative Power of Art
"Art delights, instructs, consoles. It educates our emotions. And it remembers. As Robert Frost once said about poetry, "it is a way of remembering that which it would impoverish us to forget." Art awakens, enlarges, refines, and restores our humanity."
Perhaps the worst of our anger can be left unsaid, while the best of our anger transforms our lives.
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