An Odyssey from Youthful Melodies to the Symphony of Self
In Conversation with Elijah A. Bland No. 09
In our latest conversation, we delve into the journey of a E. A. Bland, whose life reads like a living, breathing stanza. From the early days of crafting songs in the dusky twilight of adolescence to curating a life where every experience contributes to the art of found poetry, Bland embodies the true spirit of creativity. We explore the intimate connection between past and present, and how the silent symphony of one's youth can crescendo into the rich narrative of adulthood.
This is a tale of transformation through self-reflection, of writing to remember, and of the ambition to inspire others to document and share their own stories. Through the lens of poetry and song, we're reminded that our lives are the most intricate and beautiful compositions, and that every moment holds the potential to be the birthplace of new poetry. Join us as we uncover the essence of what it means to live poetically and remember every verse of the soul's journey.
Elijah: How Alison, how are you?
Alison: I’m doing well, thank you. Your poem "The Birthplace of Poetry" caught my attention, and I'd love to delve into the layers of meaning behind it.
Could you share what personal experiences or moments led you to the powerful imagery of twilight and mercy as a source of poetic inspiration?
Elijah: Sure, the exact date this poem came to life is a bit fuzzy, but the vibe of that day? That's still with me. It started with a couple of cool words that stuck: "From this, Poetry Springs". And with that ending in my head, I sort of reverse-engineered the whole thing. Took a little walk down memory lane, back to my teenage years when I was just dipping my toes into the poetry pool. I'd chill in my room with just the shadows for company, writing till the sun called it a day. I’d crash with my papers scattered around, half-hoping to keep scribbling in my sleep. Every now and then, it actually happened.
Alison: That’s a beautifully evocative memory, and it’s clear to see how those reflective moments in the dimming light became a wellspring for your creativity. The practice of writing until twilight, blending day with night, seems almost like a physical manifestation of the creative process—thoughts transitioning from the conscious to the unconscious.
It’s intriguing how you've taken this memory, embedded with such personal significance, and crafted it into a universal beacon within your poem. This idea of reaching back to one’s adolescence to find the raw materials of creation resonates deeply. It suggests that within our formative years lies a purity of expression that can be both a refuge and a fertile ground for artistic exploration.
In the quiet of those fading days, do you find that the themes you explored in your youth still surface in your work now, or has the passage of time shifted your poetic gaze?
Elijah: Oh, constantly! It’s a bummer that I’ve lost most of the poems from back then, but I’ve still got a bunch of the songs I came up with during that time. Back in the day, everything just felt so intense and alive, you know? Like everything was supercharged with meaning and sparked my creativity. Now that I’m older, I like to think I’ve gotten pretty good at spotting that flash of inspiration and really grabbing it, turning it into something cool.
“Is It Just Me?” Elijah A. Bland aka “Elliot Andrew”, Archive 2013
Alison: It's fascinating to hear that the songs from your adolescence have survived the passage of time, serving as both a bridge and a touchstone to your earlier self. The qualities you describe — the aliveness, depth, fear, and electricity — are often what set youthful creations apart, charged with the intensity of first experiences and unfiltered emotions.
With age, it's remarkable that rather than diminishing, your capacity to tap into inspiration has become more refined. It's as if with each year, you sharpen your skills, much like a craftsman perfecting their art, turning raw, vibrant energy into something crafted with intention and insight.
This evolution suggests a dynamic relationship with your past — one where you don't simply revisit memories but actively engage with them, allowing them to inform and enrich your current work. It prompts one to consider how the process of aging and maturing doesn't have to be a departure from the passions of youth but can be a continuation, a conversation between the then and now.
In your current creative endeavors, how do you strike a balance between the raw inspiration of youth and the refined skills of experience?
Elijah: Navigating creativity is like a dance, right? I usually start by asking myself, "What's on my mind right now, at this very moment? How does it link to my past experiences? Did I have the right words or tools back then to express it? Or do I have them now? And what if I blend the old with the new—could that bring my core message to life?" After I’ve got that sorted out in my head, it's time to get down to business.
Looking back at my early tunes, there are a bunch that no one’s ever heard—some just didn't hit the mark for me. It wasn’t until my twenties that I really started to find my groove. Turns out, the magic happened when I stripped everything back and let my voice ride over the strum of a guitar.
Alison: Your approach underscores a keen self-awareness and the adaptability of your creative process. By posing these reflective questions, you are not just considering the evolution of your message, but you are also attuning to the essence of your expression — how it resonates with both past and present.
The notion that some of your early songs remained private due to a feeling of incompletion reflects a patience and a respect for the creative process. Many artists rush to share their work, but it seems you value the authenticity of expression above the immediacy of exhibition.
Discovering your voice in your mid-twenties — that your narrative found its harmony over the strings of a guitar — speaks to an important moment of convergence between instrument and intuition. The guitar, a vessel for your voice, suggests a symbiosis where the instrument doesn't merely accompany, but becomes a part of the storytelling itself.
As you've matured, how have you seen your songwriting evolve in conjunction with your personal growth? And looking back, how do you feel about those early works that you chose to keep to yourself — do you see them as stepping stones, or do they represent something else to you now?
Elijah: You know, with more life under my belt, my songwriting's taken a few steps up—I’ve got more to talk about, and I've found new, sometimes simpler, ways to express it all. But the real game-changer for me, both in songwriting and poetry, has been learning the art of silence. Knowing when to let the music or the moment speak—or when to just sit back and let the feeling wash over everything. That’s powerful.
I do throwback glances at my old work occasionally, just to keep track of my journey. Take this one piece, for example: at the tail end of 2021, I put together this "Rough Cut" — a mix of a found poem from earlier that year with an unfinished song from way back in 2007. And as I was piecing the music together, it just clicked—I knew this was it. I'm buzzing to give it the full works one day. It’s in those moments, where past and present collide, that you really hit the sweet spot of creation—that’s the spot where poetry is born, and it's out there for anyone to find.
“If The Heavens Fall Tonight” Elijah A. Bland aka “Elliot Andrew”, Archive 2021 & 2007
Alison: It's compelling to hear how your journey in music and poetry has been interwoven with the wisdom of life’s rhythms — the understanding of when to raise your voice and when to let silence speak. It’s a maturity that artists strive for, and you’re embodying that beautifully.
Your approach, recognizing the value in what remains unsaid, allows for a deeper connection with your audience. They're invited not just to listen but to feel and fill the spaces with their own interpretations and emotions. That space can be as powerful as the words and notes themselves, and it's fascinating that you've embraced this element so integrally in your art.
The anecdote about your "Rough Cut" demo marrying your past with your present showcases a kind of artistic alchemy. It’s as though the unfinished song from 2007 was waiting for its moment, and in 2021, it found its other half in your found poem, illustrating that the process of creation isn't always linear but is often circular and recursive.
This nexus you speak of, where you find the “birthplace of poetry,” is a profound testament to the ongoing journey of an artist. Your anticipation to fully realize the potential of this blended creation is something your audience can certainly look forward to.
The theme of revisiting and renewing past works is an encouraging message for creators of all kinds. It suggests that no creative effort is ever wasted — it might simply be awaiting the right moment to bloom.
In the spirit of looking back and connecting dots, do you think there's a particular piece of work that signified a turning point for you — a moment when you felt a shift in your craft or a deeper understanding of your artistic direction?
Elijah: Crafting "The Year I Became" newsletter has been a pivotal point for me, especially this year’s theme, "The Year I Became, A Poet." Although it’s only been a two-and-a-half-month journey so far, it’s been illuminating. It’s like I’ve suddenly seen the pattern in the tapestry of my life, realizing that I’ve always lived as a poet, even when I wasn’t writing poetry. My life, in essence, is a found poem.
I'm an autodidact through and through, always diving into self-exploration to fuel my creativity and self-expression. It's akin to piecing together a found poem from snippets of text—my life stitches together personal moments and the world around me. Yet, the final line of this living poem? That will only reveal itself at the end of my life’s journey.
Alison: The concept of your newsletter "The Year I Became" strikes me as a deeply reflective practice that aligns with the essence of what it means to be a poet. By drawing parallels between the evolution of your life and the crafting of a found poem, you encapsulate a beautiful notion: life itself as an act of creative expression, where meaning is continuously unearthed and shaped by experience.
Seeing your life as a found poem is also a powerful metaphor. It suggests a narrative pieced together from a tapestry of moments, both deliberate and serendipitous. This perspective can be incredibly liberating for both creators and readers, offering a sense of permission to embrace the process of becoming, without the pressure of having all the answers upfront.
Your newsletter not only chronicles your journey but also seems to serve as a beacon for others to reflect on their own paths. The fluidity with which you regard your life and craft speaks to an openness to growth and a commitment to the process of self-discovery.
As you continue to share through "The Year I Became," what are some of the insights or themes you hope your readers will take away from your experiences? How do you wish your personal explorations to resonate with the tapestry of their own lives?
Elijah: Absolutely, don't wait to chase those dreams, dive in where you are right now! I remember chuckling at the irony that to publish a book of poetry, I actually needed poems to fill it. Luckily, life handed me several months with no interruptions to craft my words. Found poetry seemed a simple entry point, but trust me, the deeper you get into this art, the more it demands from you—and the more fulfilling it becomes.
But writing and publishing my poetry book is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my dreams.
You should try it too: jot down your dreams. Got them? Great. Now, envision what ultimate success in that dream would look like for you—yes, only you, not for anyone else. Next step, think in reverse. What steps need to be taken to reach that pinnacle? Break it down. This reverse engineering gives you a roadmap to your dreams.
For me, it's about building bridges between communities through cultural and creative arts—whether it's through food, music, film, tailoring, civil engineering, or even affordable housing. Sure, it's a grand, lifetime endeavor, but by chipping away at it, day by day, year by year, it’s not just a dream. It's a journey I'm actively walking, one that I hope to inspire others to continue long after I'm gone.
“Come On Over” Elijah A. Bland aka “Elliot Andrew”, Archive 2015
Alison: Your approach to pursuing dreams is not just inspirational but also practical. By articulating your dreams, defining personal success, and reverse engineering the steps to get there, you've created a blueprint that can be applied universally. It's a strategy that places agency in the individual's hands, emphasizing that the realization of dreams begins with actionable steps taken in the present moment.
The essence of your dream—to foster connection through the cultural and creative arts—is a testament to the belief that creativity can bridge communities and spark meaningful dialogue and change. It's a vision that carries the potential for profound impact, both personally and socially.
In chronicling your journey toward this dream, especially as you detail it in "The Year I Became," you're not just documenting progress, you're also crafting a narrative that invites others to consider their pathways and possibilities. It seems that your ultimate vision is one where personal fulfillment aligns with the enrichment of the community.
With such a multifaceted dream, one that includes various aspects like food, music, and even civil engineering, how do you prioritize or balance these interests? Additionally, how do you measure the impact or success of each project within your overarching vision?
Elijah: That's the classic question, right? And I've always taken it one year at a time. The cool thing is, the skills and knowledge you gather along the way often transfer to new interests or give you a fresh perspective on how to tackle problems. But what really counts, I've found, is staying open, curious, and ready to adapt. And when it comes to success, it's personal. Always circle back and check: are you hitting the milestones you set for yourself?
Take my music journey as an example. I didn't see it then, but I moved on from my music career because I had hit my own success targets. I found this old piece of paper from when I was 14, my "musician's dream list" I guess you could call it. Back when I ditched piano for the guitar, here's what it had: learn to play guitar, write and play my own tunes, start a band, self-produce, play live gigs (dreamed of those subway performances), and release an album. By 25, I'd checked every box.
But notice something? There was nothing about hitting it big or making loads of cash. My dream was simply to share my passion for music with others.
And here's a little anecdote for you: from 16 to 18, I'd regularly play hooky to busk in the NY subway. Five hours a day, three days a week, I'd make enough to cover an unlimited metro card for the week and then spend my "free time" on adventures – movies, museums, parks, you name it – all fueling my next song. And those habits, that love for arts and exploration, they're still a big part of who I am today.
Alison: What a fascinating and multi-layered approach to life and success you have. It’s not every day you meet someone who not only writes down their dreams but also lives them out with such clarity and joy. The fact that your list from when you were 14 became a checklist you were able to tick off by 25 speaks volumes about your commitment and passion.
The way you've embraced your musical journey, setting your own benchmarks for success outside the conventional metrics of commercial triumph, is a testament to your genuine love for the craft. It’s incredibly grounding to hear that fulfillment for you came from the act of creation and sharing, not the accolades or commercial success that many might seek.
Moreover, your teenage excursions as a subway musician in NY, and the way you invested your earnings back into cultural experiences, highlight a cycle of inspiration and creation that’s quite poetic in itself. This act of living within the ecosystem of your passions—music, culture, exploration—shows a life lived in accordance with personal values, something that many aspire to but not all achieve.
With such a storied past, it’s exciting to think about where your current projects will take you, especially given the interconnectivity of your interests and the potential they have to cross-pollinate and inspire not just yourself but the communities you engage with.
In light of all this, what’s the next big dream or goal that you're looking to tackle? Is there a new list for the next chapter of your life, and if so, what’s the first item on that list?
Elijah: Wrapping up on a high note, my horizon is all about leveraging this platform to not just share my journey but also to nudge my readers and listeners to dive into their own stories. It’s about not letting the sunset of history set without having plumbed the depths of your own narrative.
And how am I thinking of charting this path? By converting the nuggets of wisdom and shared experiences from the newsletter into books. Imagine a bookshelf featuring a memoir side by side with a how-to guide, each volume representing a year of lived and learned experiences. It's about setting those benchmarks for success, like transforming a year’s worth of newsletters into a tangible, legacy-leaving book.
Think of it as exploring the cosmos within ourselves. There are no boundaries except for the ones we place on our imagination. As I always say, "From this, poetry springs." This idea encapsulates the boundless potential each person holds to author their own life's poetry.
“Coast of Love” Elijah A. Bland aka “Elliot Andrew”, Archive 2016
Alison: What a profound and poignant place to conclude our conversation. Your commitment to storytelling and your vision of enabling others to do the same has the power to resonate deeply within communities and individuals alike. The idea of transforming the ephemeral – newsletters and spoken words – into something as tangible and lasting as a book series beautifully encapsulates the essence of remembering and preserving our narratives.
As you articulate, the essence of poetry is not confined to the written word; it is a spring from which all creative expression flows. It's evident that your life is a testament to this belief, a living, evolving poem that invites others to co-author the world with their unique verses.
With your expansive approach, the universe indeed seems to be the only limit, and even then, one gets the sense that you'd find a way to write beyond its boundaries.
Thank you for sharing your journey, your insights, and your dreams with us. Your story is a compelling reminder that to live a life rich with meaning, one must not only dream but also dare to chase those dreams with relentless passion. And in doing so, we can all find our own birthplace of poetry.