If you ever thought poetry is just a ‘nice’ way how to put a few metaphors together to make the sounds of life a bit more compulsive and/or coherent, than think again 18th century time traveler.
Poetry used to be THE tool to make things around you move in iambic rhythms and structural liberty. I won’t talk about all the ways in which lyrical fiction helped men get closer to a female counter part, because it was most likely the first thought you had about poetry.
You: “Gets the ladies all excited about words!”
What a cliché! Let’s assume YOU had nothing to do with the previous reenactment and simply move on.
Should poetry give you some sort of satisfaction when you use its instances? Do people want to be open to the extent of saying what they want the moment they meet somebody?
You: “I like you. Let’s bow chicka bow wow.”
She: “Of course, not!”
You could oppose the entire idea of direct interaction just by saying: “I always pulled the line and it worked, looser!” Of course it did. No doubts about you being the right guy for everything. When you were born your fairy godmother quit her job, cause you had already so much luck in your cradle. She couldn’t take her uselessness and thought about killing herself. Luckily for her there’s so few of your kind. Good poetry is as rare as luck. It comes around only once and you may never be there to witness it, not to mention understand it.
Let’s step down from the winners’ pedestal and think about poetry in a low key, let’s say in C minor — minor Cultivation.
The precious notion of you finding a way how to increase your vocabulary libido is to come up with a poem yourself, which wouldn’t be a cheap copy of a billboard slogan. Go on, try it. It’s sometimes hard to detach yourself from the environment, which influences your vocabulary and it then resembles just a cut-rate attempt to sway.
Another approach how to deem poetry unworthy of your attention may be by saying it’s girly and sissy. Try writing a poem and then squish a fly with it. It would definitely make you feel like words can kill, literally. You’re a pacifist? Try yelling, it might suffer of a ‘yelp stroke™.’
Do you think you’re suffering of a lossless and uncanny disorder making every word dissolve within incongruence? The ability of helping yourself with words doesn’t really cut it? You just might be the right candidate for the next poetry experiment conducted every Sunday by your local Church of Rhymes – every church has a tacky name to prevent judgment.
Poetry is a fact uncovered by fiction. It’s the hobo town in your backyard, which you’re frightened to set your foot in. You’re scared of the black cat disease you could pick up. You don’t even want to know what that is.
How many light years have you traveled before? None?! Here, take this. You might go around the Moon, if you’re lucky.
The ways in which to enter a distant land, fairy tale or from-the-real-work-detached lucid dream might be apparent to some, but a trip away for others.
If you read the last lines carefully, you might have though of me being under the influence of some-sort of substance. Let me bring you back on track and just say you’re wrong. Imagination has no boundaries and needs just a human touch to feel real. Making poetry is identical to reading trivial world details. Although one could argue, how can something be more important than the other? Natural human selection could be the answer. All of us pick a substance. All have a slightly different way of consuming it. Some seem to be ignoring it. To those who do such a thing: “Thank you.” YOU make it special for others.
Homme fait des rêves.