Invoking The Muses--Now it's Up to Poetry

Invoking The Muses--Now it's Up to Poetry

Not long ago, I was counseled to continue to listen to my muse and explore my authentic self.  In Billy Collins' unforgettable piece on Forgetfulness, he mentioned he has now forgotten the names of the Nine Muses, along with the address of an uncle and the capital of Paraguay.  He apparently either lacks access to Google, or fails to accept that using Google is merely a more sophisticated way of accessing "our" memory (as I do--and why not?).  

Googling something is like looking it up in your memory bank, only your memory bank is collected and collective with just about every data source on the planet. Yes, I said collected [brought or placed together; forming an aggregation from various sources: the money collected to build an orphanage; the collected essays of Thoreau.] and collective [of or characteristic of a group of individuals taken together: thecollective wishes of the membership.].  Google was aggregated, using the memories of all of us taken together.  So, the end result of that is indeed "our" memory.

So, I googled the nine muses and "remembered" they are the nine daughters of Zeus--Clio, Euterpe, Thalia, Melpomeni, Terpsichore, Erato, Polymnia, Ourania and Calliope.  In writing, one must appeal to the muses appropriate to the art one is pursuing.  Just to cover all the bases in case, I must invoke Thalia, Melpomene, Erato and Polymnia.  

Thalia, because Thalia was the protector of comedy.  Melpomene, as she was opposite from Thalia, Muse Melpomene was the protector of Tragedy.  Erato, since Muse Erato was the protector of Love and Love Poetry.  Finally, Polymnia: Muse Polymnia was the protector of among other things, grammar. 

Thus, my invocation opens the far-ranging territories of comedy, tragedy, poetry and, of course, grammar (forget about it, spelling and grammar check!).  So, why am I still sitting here without any inspiration?  Is it the fact that I am not being faithful to a solitary muse?  

If it was up to me at this instant, I guess it would be the muse of poetry, Erato (Hold still for just a second, it's not the Eros part of it, it's the poetry!).  Poetry, I am told, is the means for sorting things out. There is always someplace deeper, more profound, and more real to explore, and poetry will get us there.  Hard to know sitting here, and google doesn't have a clue what is deeper, more profound and real within us--at least me, anyway.  And I. for one, am glad you can't google me.  So, it's up to poetry.