From skies we enter here
And into skies will go
Leaving only invisible scrapes
On sands and seas
But indelible carvings
On the Human soul
What is a poem, REALLY?
We see some words arranged on a piece of paper, or screen. Sometimes they are sappy, soapy, sentiments written by café lizards looking to get laid. Other times it’s a few words, positioned exactly where they need to be.
Then suddenly, something else happens, something greater than the sum of words. 8 -16 – 32 symbols (words) transcend time and space, rising above cultures and nations, event and form, even language itself and cuts through 1000s of years of human experience, speaking to ever-new generations, like a diamond glistening in a field of common coal.
It creates an “emotional impact,” a response, yes. It “communicates,” yes it does, The Art Series answers many a profound question about art. But we are talking about a few symbols defying time and space, language and cultures and more. So the question stands.
How can this be? Poetry means: “to create,” and Poet, “one who creates,” but create WHAT, in fact.
History has proven that 16 lines of verse, constructed just right and Humanity bows, humbled at the feet of the poet. They proclaim him/her a Sage! (Emerson) a Revolutionary! (Whitman) Romantic! (Kahlil Gibran) a Master!(Rumi) Grand Observer (Shakespeare) Godsend and more.
It’s poetry, they say, and in its most sublime it is “of the gods.”
But how can such a phenomena possibly be created, with something so basic as a few symbols, scribbled on a piece of shredded wood?
Or, perhaps we should ask the more revealing question, directly: Is it possible that poetry, at its best, really is “of the gods” after all?
We would be wise not ask the poet; the poet is CAUSE creating the EFFECT. His/Her viewpoint is suspect to humility, ego, dire need, even skills, abilities and observations far in advance, or too high above anything the current inhabitants of Earth could hear and experience with any degree of comfort.
Surely, a more immediate answer rests with the RECEIPT POINT, the lone beneficiary of the wonders unleashed by the masters of poetic trade, not the Spellbinder him or herself, busily conjuring the spells (poems) that bedazzle Humankind.
For when a man sings
With wings on words
His openhearted melody
How quick the soul brings
The secret chords
To voice the perfect harmony
(Looking forward to your thoughts / comments / creative postings)