Although i have been reading books for fifteen years now it is only recently that i have started to read to feel.
Until recently i had been reading running away from my world into a books world.
There is something in the poetry which I couldn’t quite get a hold of. And this has been the reason for my negligence with poetry. Sure I understand the metaphor, ironies, contextual references but understanding poetry is different from wanting to make it a part of you for resounding with the nooks of your soul’s refrigerator.
Words strung together, one after another, with a certain licence in language are more articulate about feelings but more difficult to get through with than simple words in a line.
Poems as not the case of most stories seems to have no beginning middles and ends in the right order. They are the continuation of musings of emotions until they run out.
All serious poetry is much harder to deal with. Poetry written for oneself is a personal part of the person. Poetry written for the masses is commercialization of that part. But does that mean it must only be pretty words wrapped with a social message each time? Maybe rhyme sequence and structure does not matter anymore, but that was poetry.
Poets are supposed to have been troubled souls. With light coming in and like coming out, of their bottles.
How much do they know about what they write about?
Who is the greater writer?
One who feels every emotion deeply and is able to transmit them into a sheet of paper…?
One who feels nothing; they thinks they feel nothing, who run away emotions and thus, can express only from thier repressed cushion soul, yet deliver the blows to make the reader go through it all anyway…
Who is it, really?