On Writing Poetry….

Kurt Vonnegut said, “To be happy, you must not write poetry.”
I stare into smoldering coals at the deep truth of what he said….
 
Alexander Blok, in his deathbed speech, said that writing poetry required “restlessness and will…  Not external restfulness…  Not freedom of liberating, but artistic will and secret freedom…  A poet dies because he cannot breathe.” 
I could hardly disagree.
 
Mandelstam, another Russian poet, wrote “…a pattern set down, until now, unknown…”  as though a word, said from the depth of a matter, becomes finally clear, as if without caring about making any sense, finds it. 
Ah, yes.  I see and agree.
 
Vladimir Gandelsman, obviously Russian and also a poet, said “To write poetry is to kill time….” 
Does he mean that poetry stops time, frees the poet from time as author rises into empty space of artistic freedom which eliminates time?  If so, then poetry has a future, purpose, meaning…  a purity as sinless as a crust of bread or sip of wine.
 
Words come and words go as portal in space;
So uniquely alone, so alive in their grace.
No one notices when words leave; when they return.
When I cover my mouth; when I scream from the burn.
 
Words arrive through darkness, a tunnel for trains…
Like rockets in air, words flash in the brain
Until portal is closed and I notice the time….
Like prayers in the dark, I stumble for rhyme.

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2 thoughts on “On Writing Poetry….

  1. One of my writing professors in college asked us to raise our hands if we were basically happy people. Almost everyone did. He pointed to the two people who hadn’t and said, “You two will be writers.”

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