Yes, I speak in poetry
So you best listen well
Every line I type on here’s
A story I can tell
If you listen carefully
You’ll ALMOST hear the breeze
As I describe it with my fingers
With precocious ease.
But it’s not magic!
It’s my brain!
I’ve loaded it with facts
That all inform my point-of-view
And thus inform my acts!
[…] Nov 8, 2023 poems, poet, poetry love, lyric, poem, poems, poet, poetry, poets, rhyme, sonnet, verse I Speak in Poetry […]
LikeLike
I don’t use my brain for the actual writing of poetry, although my mind has a lot to do with the writing of it down. I hear it spoken to me on the inside into my inner ear, one or two lines at a time, and I choose which lines to record and which to throw away, and when I reject a line, more will come putting the idea of the line in different words, until my muse just gets tired of me being a fickle cat and goes on to the next line meant for the poem, if I don’t choose any of the lines it thesaurus’d at me. There’s also what I call on over-editor commenting on the poem as it’s coming, suggesting things, editing things, and then, after it’s written, there’s a period of editing still, also by that inner voice.
Now, before my poems came as I described above, I wrote poems as a boy, usually in a dialogue form, a form which my muse still uses. I got a degree in English, got proficient in translating Attic and Homeric Greek poetry into English verse, although at that time it was rhyme and meter that I fit the English’d Greek into. I experimented with most of the styles of poetry I’d learned about, but not all, and I did poetry actions, like taping poems on sacred places of the world, or sacred to the Western world, but I now tape them not on sacred spots but on the net, and located in the East, in India.
I went through many degrees of inspiration, from hashing out poems with my brain to feeling as though I were in some rush of inspiration, where the words just poured onto the page, but the poetry did not come whole and ready-made. I didn’t even know that was possible until I heard my first line of poetry from the inside, “And I suppose a rose has known well all the glory a man might.” I wrote a poem from that line and realized many poets had done the same thing, built poems around such gems from inside. It took many years before I wrote whole poems that way, and many more before, to me at least, I’d began to learn inevitability, meaning waiting and listening for the inevitable next line to come, the one that’s intended by the muse of poetry to come, in other words, the right one.
LikeLike
This is how the magic happens, friend. they are gifts that simply occur to you as a reward for all the hard work you put in. I would like to read that poem.
LikeLike
Musings of the Mad 
Leave a Reply