by Ren Powell

One of the awkward quirks of social media is the occasional crossover of cliques. A few weeks ago, I stumbled on the blog profile of one of my theater students. He wrote that he considers himself an actor,“although” he knows he “really isn’t one yet.”

The fact is I saw very little of the student the first months of school this year because he was acting in a supporting role in a television mini-series. He has been acting in professional children’s theater productions for a large fraction of the modest number of years he has spent on this earth. He has performed for audiences and for cameras, and I am assuming that, for the latter at least, he was paid real money for doing so.

So when is he a “real” actor? When he has a degree from a particular school? When an actor’s guild gives him a card? When he is smugly satisfied with his skills and doesn’t give a prop what anyone thinks of his craftsmanship or talent?

Or will he be disingenuous and, accepting the academy award for best actor, say that he hopes he will one day be able to consider himself a “real” actor, thus ridiculing anyone without an award on the mantel who calls him- or herself an actor?

I have to admit to having a preoccupation with this question. The past decade, I have traveled quite a bit. Every time the airplane approaches the runway and they hand out the landing cards, I get a rush of panic. I stop at the blank that follows the word occupation. Poet, like actor, seems to be one of those titles some of us feel ridiculously self-conscious taking upon ourselves. I am occupied by poetry. I am trained to write poetry. I do not make a living writing poetry. Two out of three dictionary definitions isn’t bad?

The years that my tax form read self-employed, and published a book, and earned enough royalties to buy new shoe strings, or received a grant, I proudly wrote: Writer.

Why not poet? To be painfully honest, because I worry about what people think:

Poet = A person who writes poetry?

Poet = A person who publishes poetry for other people to read?

Poet = A person whose poetry is published by people who have authority within academia?

Poet = A sensitive soul?

Poet = An inspired spirit?

Poet = A rebel with a cause?

Poet = A total flake, a suffering romantic, a person who can’t be trusted with small children or sharp objects?

And just when I think I am in a place where I know the other to whom I am presenting myself and think I can comfortably claim the title as my own, I get sideswiped: This summer one of my doctorate advisers said, “I know you want to have a career as a poet someday.” My defenses jumped to attention: I almost choked on my indignation, my CV …  and my own hypocrisy — I thought I was having one. (Glad I’d written “student” on my landing card that morning.)

I have heard people I respect say the oddest things when it comes to the question of who is a poet. One woman I know calls herself a “poetry practitioner” because she thinks “poet” sounds too fancy. But “nurse practitioner” comes to my mind, which makes me think of poetry as ministering to the soul, something I would be very uncomfortable claiming to do.

Many people have told me they feel that the title of poet is something they should not take upon themselves, but rather something that should be conferred by others.

OK then: By whom? Is it appropriate to ask them to consider you for the rubber stamp? Or do they tattoo it on your hairline? Is there a pageant to enter? (Is there a swimsuit competition?!) Can one be stripped of the title when a residency term is finished? When the journal, zine, blog has dissipated in the ether of cyberspace? When you no longer think the world sucks and have no need to refill your prescriptions?

I am going to make this simple. I hereby confer upon us all the title of “poet” and will schedule appointments to tattoo everyone — base of the skull only, please. I can begin this weekend.

Right now I need to get to class. My student may have earned more money as an actor than I did this year, but he still has some things to learn. And so do I.

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Ren Powell has published three poetry collections and eleven books of translations. She is a graduate adviser with Prescott College’s master of arts program and is pursuing a doctorate in creative writing at Lancaster University. Learn more at her website.