Monday

I wonder sometimes why we write poetry, or rather, why we write it to share with an audience. I know why I write poetry for myself, I enjoy it, working with the words gives me pleasure. Crafting a poem can also help me clarify something or might remain as a reminder of a particular scene or event.

So I suppose I could use the same reasoning for then passing it onto an audience. Perhaps it will give them pleasure or remind them of something within their own lives. Is there, however, an underlying tone or message I want my words to smuggle in with them?

When I first began writing poetry I was struggling with depression and reading my work now I see that it was shrieking: THIS IS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE. THIS IS HOW BLEAK IT IS. I remember there came a time when I thought quite consciously I could go on with my bleak pattern, or I could let threads of hope, joy and love weave in. They were not very strong yarns at that point, rather meagre, in fact, but by giving them a presence I do feel I was allowing them to grow more abundant.

'Sometimes if you act as if you were blessed, you will be blessed.'

Ursula K. Le Guin, the wave in the mind.

When I look out into the world right now, there's not much to brighten the gloom. It would be easy to rant and critique. However, perhaps as a poet my role is otherwise, to unearth the gleam and give it a shine. Just like when times are good, my job might be to say, wait a moment, there's something stinking here too? Perhaps as poets we always work counterwise, as a balance, until the weight slips the other way, as it almost inevitably will.