By Simon Measures
Trying to get to the poetic essence of a thing, a feeling, an experience or group thereof is hard. It’s like you know it’s there, you know you’ve the language and articulacy to support it but conveying it in a way that is satisfactory is really tricky.
The head is needed, the words and their order, their sound, their meaning are available in my nut but introducing the truth of the heart to blend and sponsor remains elusive. I know it is in there, but I don’t wanna spin or vainglory the thingness that I really mean outside of the time it takes to write the words and I don’t wanna think about it, not in the normal way.
The heart has to filter and edit these thoughts, but it seems like ne’er the twain, oil and water. Space is what is needed, silence and unwanting, unlearning, unexpecting, not trying to please or entertain, or show I’m clever.
Aye, it’s a tricky biz this poetry game. Avoiding the tropes, the cliches, and the hackneyed.
Going beyond language via language itself is clearly a big ask. I’m not convinced words are up to the task in and of themselves. They have to be rightly motivated.
Where are they coming from is a key question for me. Where is my mind? Where is my heart? I need to be honest and authentic, rigorously honest. I find this hard, I’ve a tendency to underplay and embellish.
To strip away, to subtract, to peel the layers of one by one, gradually, reducing, irking and denying the vanity that would try and pretty up the prose is what I’m going for here.
About our author, Simon