The Poet and the Writer
10 Tuesday Jul 2012
No tags :(
This is the title piece from my latest Dream-Speak e-book.
I thought I would use it as a jumping off point.
I have a friend who insists on calling me a poet.
I tend to think I simply write poetically and that it’s
more about living a poetic life than stripping things
down to verse and shortened lines.
I have never counted a syllable in my life, but once
took up the practice of counting birds.
I was once involved with an online poetry site, but I
left because they were so taken by the writing of it all.
I want to kick around in the the garden, in the yard,
understand people, understand what makes them tick,
understand the language of the soul and then maybe ~
I’ll write about it.
Is this backwards?
In the end it might be the difference between the poet
and the writer.
Writers having schedules and deadlines – and poets
I went searching online to see how writers and poets define poetry. Most of it was stuffy nonsense about words, arrangement and the freedom of emotion.
The quote I liked best was this one from Bob Dylan;
“I consider myself a poet first and a musician second. I live like a poet and I’ll die like a poet.”
I felt validated when I came across this line because I have always considered Bob Dylan to be one of the best living poets. He is high on my list of greats simply because his life lives in his lyrics.
In my words -
‘We find poetry when we get on with the business of getting on with our lives’.
It happens when I shut my laptop down in the evening. It happens over breakfast and in that half awake place between lunch and a nap. It happens in the ten thousand things I count myself grateful for everyday.
Poetry happens when I give myself the freedom to live.
It happens when I notice and thread events together that might otherwise seem insignificant.
And then there is the sharing.
Maybe my friend is not so wrong to call me a poet after all because I am – getting on with the business
of getting on with my life.
But in the end, it is not really mine to define.
I have never found meaning in the black and white.
I once asked for truth and I was shown a great light.
I dove in – and found only more life.