Todays My voice is written by a Poet and an architect friend Anand, who has meditating on poetry .
Timeless Hues in Poetry
Poetry cannot be read, I would argue, it can only be reread. For me, it is a continuation of the scriptures, the kind of language one studies for insights and inspiration, for spiritual direction, for correction. Poets write in the line of prophecy, and their work teaches us how to live. The language of poetry, when properly absorbed, becomes part of our private vocabulary, our way of moving through the world.” (Parini, 2008)
Education and schooling for children, do not train them to nurture the creative connections of the logical mind to its intuitive faculties. Dissemination of knowledge is through closed compartment-like subjects. They have cognitive boundaries and do not flow into each other. Language, diction, science, and mathematics, in essence, may all seem poetic, but where the study of these subjects ends, is where poetry begins.
Unexplored is the science of poetry – the science of the unknown, the poetry of mathematics – the maths of many mistakes, the poetry of logic – where the unreasonableness of life could reveal the texture of logic of the mysteries within. It seems that the living world fears the depths that are beyond the physical and tactile, that the human world refrains from profound realizations, and swims only on the surface, closing out to a complete comprehension of the several depths hidden within.
The reality of the seeming unreal was first revealed to human conception and was first born in poetry. We need to lose ourselves to the incomprehensible creative wakefulness of the night, to be able to work in clarity of the light of the day.
Whenever I re-read my early poems, I always thought I had met myself for the first time, ever. That was a different me. With more re-readings and contemplation on the subject, I found hues of Higher Consciousness in poetry. Between me and the poem, stood an angelic intervention to bring to the surface the real me which I seem to have lost now. It is not the limited idea of ego called “I”.
The jumble of words called a poem forms a bridge to the very inside of the heart. Languages of everyday communication fail with deeper emotions. Words are only clues. Just as a moan of ecstasy and a moan of agony cannot be translated accurately into writing, the shriek of pain and the shriek of joy are inadequate verbalizations, as howls of pleasure and howls of distress are inefficient expressions, so is language incomplete for total communication. In this blindness, poetry shows the light, but it too hides behind a metaphor. It is shy of exactness.
(Poet, architect, translator, professor, and theosophist. Member WPM and founder of Poiesis Society for Poetry)
POIESIS – Society for Poetry
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