“Peace goes into the making of a poem as flour goes into the making of bread.” Pablo Neruda
Many of us take to writing or reading poetry when nothing else will suffice. Regular prose somehow doesn’t do it when we’re in a new place, or exploring a different place calling for some other kind of expression. Perhaps we have the words but want a new rhythm or a new pattern.
Poetry comes at us from a different direction, sometimes many directions at once. We go to poetry books to find different forms of expression when we feel at odds with where we are, or if there’s a new space that needs filling or a new place that needs understanding. Poetry comes at us from a different angle. We don’t expect it to make sense in the usual ways.
Poetry, when we give ourselves to it, has the ability to alter or enlarge our perceptions.
I am drawn to poems when I am on the edge of my old understanding, stepping across the divide into a new understanding. And in this new understanding I don’t have the words yet. And maybe I never will, because so often I feel in places that are beyond the logic of language. And yet I have a need to put my thoughts into words, to commemorate them or share them or explore them or simply to chronicle them for myself. The more I can put my thoughts into words the better I will see where I have been.
Often my paintings or my writing seem like bread crumbs left behind on my trail, so that I can find my way back if I go out too far.
Different parts of ourselves open up at different times, develop at different rates. Sometimes we just need to run in place for a while, other times sprint ahead. It’s those sprinting ahead times I’m talking about here. Those transition times when I don’t want to use the same old language in the same old patterns. And I’m looking for new patterns and rhythms that feel more like this new place I’m in. It’s exciting and uncomfortable, exciting and stressful, to have a brain on fire, a brain about to burst. So I look for words. I look for something to put down, so I know that I AM.
What do you do?
Here is one of my favorite poems by Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore –
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over –
Like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
Like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Don’t miss our blog talk radio show
Tuesday March 9th – The Poetry of it All
Stay in touch with the conversation, subscribe to the RSS feed for comments on this post.
Hi Dawna,
Thanks for your comment – I’m so glad you brought up the topic of inadequacy – nix to that!
These times call for brave souls who can see through themselves and are willing to be transparent to others – because we are all ONE and no one (on this level) is here to judge anyone else – only to share in the joy of being ALIVE!
Let’s all be Fools and make Fools of ourselves – and like the Fool card in the Tarot – step off the cliff of our safe little shells and be daring.
The Heart knows what it knows, and that’s all we are sharing ~ our hearts
<3
Listen to our btr show – I swear to you, it’s all in the delivery! <3
Nancy, I can very much relate to the things you’re saying here. For me, writing is an innate ability. I am realizing that I *have* to write, even when I do not know how to express my impressions, the pictures in my mind in words. The *need*, I’ve realized, does not simply go away.
Indeed, for me, writing is a way not only to commemorate the events of my life, but there are often times when expressing my thoughts in written form allows me to see the bigger picture more easily. Again, there are many times, however, that words seem to be lacking in the expression of what I am feeling or experiencing.
I have had an interest in poetry in the past, but have allowed it to fall by the wayside. There are many creative avenues that I’ve abandoned or failed to venture along because I’ve convinced myself that my expressions are inadequate. Perhaps, they are those that I ought to venture along again or finally…
March 8, 2010 at 4:09 pm