Poetically Speaking, What is Poetry for me?

Again, some­thing I’d writ­ten long time back, in 1990, to be pre­cise. All crit­i­cisms wel­come!

What do I write about?
The moun­tains, lakes, skies;
Or birds, flow­ers, and the like?

Here I am, amongst my dai­ly trou­bles,
Want­i­ng some peace of mind
Thought I would write a poem
But what do I write about?

I won­der what poets pos­sess
That makes them poets
I won­der how their cre­ativ­i­ty
Is cre­at­ed…

How mis­chie­vous lan­guage is!
It com­plete­ly describes an enti­ty
As com­plex and vague as the poet­ic mind
By sim­ply call­ing it poet­ic!

Is poet­ry born out of
Joy, Grief, and oth­er such
Intense emo­tions only?
Or can this be called a poem
If I con­sid­er it to be?

I now sus­pect
That it needs great con­cen­tra­tion
For a poet
To write a poem

And fur­ther
That there is a supe­ri­or log­ic
Behind the rhyth­mic pas­sages
Of a poem

Poet­ry is a means for the poet
To let his imag­i­na­tion
And roman­ti­cism
Run wild

If we invent norms
Regard­ing what con­sti­tutes a poem
Would it be a restric­tion
Which may destroy what it’s try­ing to pre­serve?

For some, a poem is sim­ply
A rhyth­mic, lucid pas­sage
Why can’t prose
Not pos­sess­ing lucid­i­ty of words
But of thought
Be called a poem?

I can bet­ter appre­ci­ate rhythm and lucid­i­ty
In ideas
Than in words

How I wish I could write a poem
Of my many enchant­i­ng thoughts
With­out suf­fer­ing from the curse
Of being com­pelled to use lan­guage
Whose words do not always rhyme…

I am now catch­ing a glimpse
Of the poet­ry
That is in the world
For me

How won­der­ful is the fact
That I am con­scious
Of myself!
Am I not the poet­ry of Nature?

But then I won­der
Who is the poet of Nature?
Which itself is sheer poet­ry?
Does poet­ry require a poet?

Which leads me to think
Does a poet ever cre­ate poet­ry?
Or does he sim­ply catch
The already exist­ing poet­ry
In words?

Final­ly, what is poet­ry?
Which, I think
Every­body should decide for one­self
If they can

For me
The lucid­i­ty of ideas in a poet­ic work
Tran­scends the super­fi­cial rhythm
Of its words

I think the best exam­ple
Of what I intend to say
Is best exem­pli­fied
In this work itself
Which has been a poet­ry for me

The lucid­i­ty of thoughts
And the log­ic of the think­ing mind
Com­bined with the fla­vor of roman­ti­cism
Sur­passed the absence of rhyme
To cre­ate this poem?

PS: This just goes to prove that I’m not a poet by nature, irre­spec­tive of my amat­uer­ish attempts

This entry was posted in culture, My Art, nature, Personal, personality, philosophy, poetry, psychology. Bookmark the permalink.
  • Friend, there are poets,
    Then there are poets!
    Few, like you, speak of their minds,
    Some, like me, talk out of their hinds.
    Whether or not you need rhyme,
    ‘s some­thing which needs some time
    To teach us this life-les­son,
    That we need not rhyme, but rea­son.

  • You leave me speech­less. What can I say? What a ter­rif­ic rejoin­der!

    We both rea­son and rhyme togeth­er!

  • Great post…I tru­ly enjoyed your words…Thank you for shar­ing

  • Enre­al — thank you very much! Com­ing from a real ‘poet’ like you, it means a lot!

  • Very nice!

    Dave Bar­ber