So I’ve been getting into poetry. No news there. Not
reading it as much as writing it. I realize that much of my
poetry cannot be taken too seriously–heck, some of them I spent less
than an hour on–and it shows. But I take it quite serious when
I’m in the moment.
Tonight, we studied Psalm 63 in our small group. At the end, I
had everyone write their own psalm of lament. slackeur made the
keen observation about David that he had this ability to be two places
at once. I realize now that’s what poetry offers me. It is
hard for me to describe, but when I feel I’ve hit the bottom of the
barrel, poetry sends me to an alternative reality where things are
goofier than reality, but the signficance is still the same as the
worldly reality. It is not so much a bird’s eye view or just
simply therapy. My poems create for me a self-contained world in
which my thoughts and emotions of that moment become the only
concern. But strangely enough, there always enters in some
surprise element–something that I had not intended to be
included. It is jarring how my own poetry can surprise me.
It can surprise me as I’m writing it. It can surprise me weeks
later after I’ve finished it already.
So now I’ve gotten to trying to get everyone writing poetry too.
I don’t think it’s something everyone enjoys doing, I realize.
Not everyone feels like a poet. And not everyone likes being
faced with a blank sheet of paper and the thought of being
vulnerable. But regardless of how people start, I often find that
when I hear their poems, it is often the first time I’ve really heard
them, that is, as a person. Sometimes people’s changing tones
mask their true voice. I’ve found that poetry releases it.
In any case, I wanted to explain why I haven’t been tending to my cocky
rants in a while. It’s because life’s been rather tough and the
only way I’ve been able to face the challenge has been through the
symbolic world of poem.