How true! And yet, the most poetic thing about poetry is how its beauty can be steeped in oblivion in a matter of minutes.
Readers and poets question themselves time and again- "Do we need the poems that take minutes to weave and minutes halved to read? Do we need poetry in our lives?”
I’ve asked that question too. And I've found the answer.
We need more poetry in our lives.
Poetry is like a placid stream- gentle on the surface, bubbling, spouting. The swift verse is the fountain; its creation, in a matter of minutes, the work of months’ thought flexing and wrestling to find the best way to manifest.
A thought sparks up in dim light,
And wedges past several footstools
To transform into a lingering piece.
Toadstools bright with color
Deck the narrow course
That the thought pursues
And impart their color to it.
What started out as a little thought
With some force, some gumption,
Becomes, unknowingly, a poem
With a meaning
That was never intended it,
But which it assumes cheerfully.
The soul is the thought
A little lost, meandering
Surfacing through more powerful words.
These words may reach you like a candid bolt of thunder. But the realization that I put into them reached me after years of writing and exploration.
This realization has impressed on me the fact that poetry is too precious to become undone by its simplicity.
We need poetry as much as we need yoga, or food, or exercise. Because poetry is not about the universe, the world, pollution, climate change, before it is about you. You- the individual, and your discovery, journey, story. It is the food for your thoughts and soul, the open-air for your feelings, the candle on a dark day. Your poem is your beacon of hope and happiness.
Some Misconceptions and Myths- Debunked
And you may say- fine, I understand- but if I don’t ‘get’ poetry, how can I create a poem?
The first step is to clear any misconceptions you may have regarding the writing of poems.
If you find yourself thinking,
“I don’t have and can’t provide all the answers…”
Counter that with, “But I do have and can ask one really good question.”
“I don’t use super words or poetic devices, my poems don’t resemble those of classic literature…”
Tell yourself, “My poem doesn’t have to replicate a model- I’ll use my style, my words, my thoughts..”
Or, “This is taking tediously long; I may forget where I started off!”
Remind yourself that, “you should explore all the possibilities and enjoy the exploration, however long it may take!”
Once you begin, poetry becomes as much about discovering as about creating, about believing as about sharing. Keep reminding yourself that you can pour power and feeling into your writing, and keep it genuine. Like any creative art, penning poetry is both elaborate and fun, tedious and seamless! My goal is to guide everyone to feel like poetry is ‘their thing too’. So I’ve chosen to break the process down into its intimidating and interesting parts and show you some tricks you can have up your sleeve when the going gets tough.
Poems don’t need to rhyme- just write freely!
The most daunting part of writing poetry is also the most inviting aspect of reading it- the rhyme. Victor Hugo mused, "Rhyme,that enslaved queen, that supreme charm of our poetry, that creator of our meter." Consider this, and I speak from the heart:
Colours flinging on bare screens
Azure washes and magenta tides.
A new life being born
Crescent strokes and dashed stokes-
Clement skies, a new world
Grey eyes wallowing with
New emotions. No one thought that
Monochromatic pictures of grey
Botches of white and black streaks,
Could be beauty.
The deep grey eyes saw the world,
In black and white
So she created her world in colours
And took everyone's word
For its godliness.
Those grey eyes, soft as velvet,
Yet as forgiving as wool
Held within them a creator's pride
And a sufferer's confusion.
Our world sees in colour,
But perceives in black and white
So some saw one
While others saw the other.
There was no rhyme there- did the poem go berserk? Of course it didn’t, doesn’t it narrate the poignant story of a pained artist?
Poetry is just that- it is what you see, and want the reader to, disguised between words. The question is- what kind of disguise would you choose?
And there. Your fear has been dispelled.
Using Rhyme to your advantage
The rhyme, if you don the adventurer’s cap, is your greatest weapon.
It comes with a caveat, however- while the poet can get carried away with the trot of words, the reader can lose herself in the maze of rhyming words.
A discovery I made was that the abstraction of imagery is the best cure to the technicality of rhyme.. A poem I penned on bullying will show you this better:
"To be, or not to be..."
"That is the main question..."
Doing a wrong for popularity,
Is that now the most popular suggestion?
Six mighty men, musing over their weapons,
Chose, with a lofty arrogance, the scathing word,
"Oh," said the first, "It will only need slight polish,
And a most seamless throw- with an impact lourd.
"And", continued the second, "It is most benign,
It will pierce, but with not a drop of blood,
How sly and pompous, how clever,
How mightier is the pen than the sword!"
"So", smiled the third, "Its cast-iron case,
Will camouflage its lethal powers,
And then , when preparation and opportunity meet,
It will make the bravest, cower.
And the other three, well, opted for the old
'All for one, one for all' policy.
With blind faith in their partners' design,
They knew not, to what they had just resigned.
Words are hurtful, words can mine,
True, but aren't there those, too, that are truly divine?
So why not make a wise choice,
Use words that resound with grace and poise.
When you create images, use analogies, or pose a question, the rhyme becomes secondary and the poem doesn’t lose its essence.
Steps to Overcoming the Writer’s Block while penning
The gloomy shadows of Writer’s Block are here to stay.
Which writer can wish away the writer’s block?
Here’s my secret: I’ve found that writer’s block stems not only from the desire to pen a perfect piece, but also from the fear of leaving your work unfinished. Let me put any such fears you may have to rest- write what’s closest to your heart, don’t fear grammatical errors, they correct themselves in due course, and be ready to come up with an unfinished piece.
Poetry, although it has a beginning, a middle and an end, may seem like it echoes just one, or two of the three. That’s because, it essentially either asks a question, or answers one; if it does both, perfect. The point is- if your poem makes things a fraction clearer for you, it has served its purpose- to make you more aware and a better person.
“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance”, penned Carl Sandburg.
Cobbled streets.
Cement roads.
Cross-bridges.
Junctions.
Signals.
Breezes.
Open spaces.
Dreams.
Thoughts.
They're just words.
But,
Ah...
If it were not for stories..
Have you ever thought,
Of a lane?
Of a way?
That you've caught a glimpse of somewhere.
Oh, not the same somewhere.
Somewhere else.
Where roses were pink.
Think
For a while.
Think.
Why do you positively 'know' that place?
Why?
After all,
There was
Just a barren dust-track.
And its twin.
Empty spaces.
Think.
Dig hard.
And you might find
That you saw
A Santro
Pass.
In both Poona
And say,
Hyderabad?
Think again.
Maybe
Since we are all human
And there is more
Alike one of us
In another
Than there is
In anything else,
Maybe
More than one someone,
Wished to ward off evil,
By means of the 'traditional remedy'?
Perhaps you saw a brother and his other,
At two ends of the world?
Or you might have seen
A protruding rock
Or a stray?
Or a child
Speak to his mother?
Or a signpost
That triggered a thought
Unique to you?
An idea?
In one place,
An idea.
The second time
The idea
Done with and dusted.
Poetry for the Greater Good
Through this poem, I tried to discover the answer to a question that had been ringing in my head for a long time- why do two places seem so alike? As you would have noticed, the answer isn’t clear yet, but I’ve moved a few inches closer to it.
If you can call into question your beliefs and alter them, or answer a bothering question through your creation, you have unleashed the power of poetry. Now the confident creator of your very own poem, its meaning melts into the world and mingles with the understanding of the reader, changing it for the better.
“A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom”, Robert Frost concluded.
Where barns are swiveling golden manes,
And silver crests, and cantering ponies,
Where life is in the meadow,
The meadow in the midst of life,
The radiant silver of Little Spikes,
A brighter hue of familiar 'bites'.
A stable is a quaint old tale,
All wood and splinters,
All dusty and dingy ,
All traits adding to its grandeur,
Including the fine young mare that rests inside.
Je me suis trompé,
Who RESTS inside.
For she breathes the 'dinge',
And grunts the dust,
The splinters chisel her tail.
And feeds on carrots come morn,
A dull-grey dressing per pail.
The humble lady, from dream to dream,
As these grow louder, and the fields hazier,
Grapples with her giving limbs,
With unfamiliar faces, every fifth week,
With a routine that tries her and she tires of.
Who says the joy of the breaker-in is unparalleled,
When the bit fits and the girdle hurts,
When the saddle fastens and whip cracks?
When there is a much nobler creature,
Investing her patience for a return of simple faith,
Living each breath, not as if it were her last,
But as if it were her first.
What honesty in her hopes!
And so it is true happiness
For the horse when she finds
That there is some man whose honesty parallels hers.
Through this poem, the plight of a horse not only reaches the poet’s heart, but also that of the reader. With the power of the pen, you can touch upon the most glaring issues, by asking the right questions and seeking the answer with all your heart. You can change the world, one poem at a time, one reader at a time, one issue at a time.
My Story and Journey with Poetry
Here’s my story. My tryst with poetry was unplanned. Imagine a seven-year old girl, wondering a lot about a lot of things, just as all seven-year olds do, and loving the look of her handwriting, and the taste of her pencil!! That was me! I had the pencil in my hand, the thought in my head, the book on the table- and just as a young child realises one fine day that the weather seems best to start to walk, poetry was supplied- not created. Do you see? It’s that simple! Or as one of my favourite poets, Sarah Kay, famously said, “If there is a poem inside of you, it has to come out.”
When I began to write, I wondered whether a person could be afraid of everything, because I was afraid of many, or if Mother Earth were a living being, how incomparable her pain would be. Sometimes, I found that animals could be animated into expressing their ‘All in a Day’s Work’, and a new Aniverse of Poems was born. Pun intended.
Over time, poetry for me became a grounding factor- a source of joy, curiosity and sensitivity towards my feelings and the surroundings. Every poem has a unique story knit with it, as will be the case with every poet. Together, they trace out a journey, the evolution of not only writing style and thoughts but also the evolution of a human being.
Decoding the Message and Meaning of the Poem
Now touching a serious note, there is much to be done as a responsible reader, notwithstanding as a poet and observer. Offering you some assistance in decoding a poem will launch you in the right direction.
“So much is unheard and unsaid, that it would be a shame if what was said and heard were not to be understood.”
Skipping back to the poem, New World, let me explain it to you from the poet’s perspective.
I wrote the poem because I felt that many of us aspire to pursue a certain passion, do many things, but are held back by the lack of the one factor that’s essential to master that art. But should that hold us back? Never- just as dyslexia didn’t deter Agatha Christie nor color-blindness the artist in the poem. The pain, however, remains- the pain of not being able to see the wonder that one has created in the form that others see it in.
There! It is just a matter of allowing words to form a picture in your head. You don’t have to be able to paraphrase- just be able to feel, visualize and appreciate.
Your task as a reader and poet is like that of a programmer- to put the pieces together and get the ‘syntax’ nearly right. It’s a lot easier, really, as there is no debugging to be done.
Conclusion- Keep writing- never give up!
If, however, you find your head against a wall- believe me, it’s a crucial part of the process. Trust in it, and don’t give up.
Cascades of ink splayed over the floor
Rustling paper, groaning windows.
The pirouette of the calendar as it lifts its chin up, mockingly.
And a dull brown table, except for some motivating dishes
Which sit upon it alluringly, but impatiently.
Ink whisked over yellowing paper
An exasperated shadow against the curtain
Silhouetted against both fancies and targets.
You write from an intimate personal standpoint,
That anyone else, only has a remote chance
Of understanding. And yet you do not stop
The ink flows, the fingers dance over the keys,
Whatever it be. So no one gets your little piece of art
It's inscrutable, incomprehensible.
Yet you write away the burdens
And the troves in your mind
Hoping to free it from them but knowing,
That they will now stay with you forever.
When do you stop then, not to start ever again?
Let your words answer this question
Whether stacked on a bookshelf or in a tiny little notebook
Privy to some amazing things.
O Writer, you're one determined creature, aren't you?
My parting words are those of Robin Williams in the Dead Poets’ Society-”Remember- that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?”
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