This is still a running blog, but my thoughts are in a strange place just now.
Poetry expresses with words what cannot be said in words. The impossibility of its task is its charm. It should not be easily understood. It may be ambiguous; it may reveal shades of meaning. It may point to different truths, depending upon the reader. Its truth should be evolutionary and never completed.
Poetry takes risks and it goes to extremes. It may not make sense in the manner that prose does, using a logic of its own design. A rigid plan and fidelity to custom are anathema to poetry. The joy of unexpected juxtapositions, the beauty of precarious balance and the flight of reason are indispensable to it.
Poetry is partial: it cajoles, it extols, it cares very deeply. It might change its views and opinions, but believes continuously.
Poetry is not natural, though it often uses nature as its source and inspiration. It may try to mislead, to mask the truth, revealing its beauty in its failure to deceive.
Poetry should not be calm. It can describe tranquility or the promise of relief, but it should lead the eye from line to line in fits and starts as the reader digests it. It should be anticipatory and heedless.
Poetry need not be kind. It can be unrelenting. It can be self-serving or indulgent. It is subjective and personal.
Poetry is not social. A poet may recite to an audience, but the poem is hermetic. Poetry stands alone, away from the ridicule to which it opens itself.
Contrary to popular belief, poetry should not be pleasant, or it becomes doggerel. It should challenge the reader to think and to feel. It is an agent of change.
I am my poetry.
After today's workout, my blisters look like bubble wrap filled with cherry Kool-aid. It's a start.
Today's quote: "Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light." - Dylan Thomas
Aid Station: Eugene Curnow
2 days ago