The human difficulties of his task
There is great truth in the saying, “if you can’t fix it, feature it.”
My mind is not linear, but associative and intuitive.
So I’ll write an associative and intuitive 1st blog post.
With poetry, we’re experiencing the origin of language, which is central to consciousness itself.
Poetry is primal, and basic to our true being, the part of us which, like an octopus, stretches itself through all our incarnations:
A divine Ananda, a delight interpretative, creative, revealing, formative,—one might almost say, an inverse reflection of the joy which the universal Soul felt in its great release of energy when it rang out into the rhythmic forms of the universe the spiritual truth, the large interpretative idea, the life, the power, the emotion of things packed into an original creative vision,—such spiritual joy is that which the soul of the poet feels and which, when he can conquer the human difficulties of his task, he succeeds in pouring also into all those who are prepared to receive it. – Aurobindo, The Future Poetry.
In this vision, poetic creativity, the maker’s joy in self-expression, is identified with the Divine’s poetic creation of all reality. This was also Emerson’s conscious experience:
We stand before the secret of the world, there where Being passes into Appearance, and Unity into Variety. The Universe is the externisation of the soul. Wherever the life is, that bursts into appearance around it. (Emerson, The Poet)
When I write about poetry, I’m speaking of something that exists both personally and universally, in a specific incarnational motion-moment, but also outside of time and space.
Something that’s mine – a vision, experience, felt-sense, emotion, realization, a monad – a flower of consciousness opening . . . yet something that itself becomes a living vector, and opens the same flower in my readers.
It becomes yours.
In these Blog Posts I’ll write about:
- The varieties of poetic experience
- Poetic history
- The cultural context in which poetry is taking place
- Verse structure
- My influences
- The memes, themes and Eidolons held within the poems
- The nature and possibilities of the Kindle – an extension of the book
- The reactions of readers to my work – all those who are prepared to receive it
HELLO, POETRY LOVERS!
I can write, but never publish.
You must write, but hide your words,
till the hollow, roaring whiteness
is a mouse no longer heard.
Commands, no longer listened to,
commandments . . . all absurd.
You can’t write, they’ll kill you for it,
you can’t speak, no one must know.
Hide the words and hide the knowledge,
there’s a longer way to go.
Shroud the seeds, till they grow freely
and break through the melting snow.