Friday, September 13, 2013

Poetry is divinity, and school.

It's the passive burning center.

Poetry comes from gloom.   It comes when you find no reason to get up out of bed, when your despair is like Job's, I suppose.  It doesn't come, necessarily, directly, from reading another poem, unless by reading that poem you allow yourself to get into that mode with mind and brain.  Other poems have to be digested into deeper levels of consciousness.

And this is Shakespeare and what he does.  His brain is poetry mode twenty-four seven, through entire plays.  Iambic pentameter to render the news.

It's poetry, I suppose, that bothers me, keeps me up at night, makes me dissatisfied.  It's essential to write, to get it out.  Poetry helps me see what the inner mind sees that consciousness has difficulty articulating (except through practice, and faith.)  But a poem has a life of its own, an identity of its own.  What we write is an approximation.  Its lines could always be moved around, or tinkered with, or adjusted, cooked another way, but the poem itself is the ideal, like Plato's chair, that remains behind the mortal attempt.  It gives supporting structure.

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