The Quest For Meaning Continues...
I've been asking around and I want to know your opinion on what poetry is. Is it the words? The syllables? The spaces between them? All three? Something else entirely?
So far, I've only asked two other people and the question has kinda stumped them. Since you write a lot of poetry, I thought you might have a more clear understanding. Thanks!
The PoetGirl [not her username or anything, just my new nickname for her]:
First of all, nice to meet you! I'm [insert name here], by the way. :) Also, I shoudl probably warn you that this will be ridiculously long. Sorry.
Hmm, there are two ways of going about what poetry is; the official definition, and MY definition.
I'll start off with the official one: literary work in which special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm; poems collectively or as a genre of literature.
To me, that just sounds like an odd jumble of words. Maybe it's the fact of how I can't focus lately, but whatever. Haha :)
MY definition would have to be a rather fluid one:
Poetry is the communication of the heart, mind, and soul. Poetry is whatever you want it to be. Though there are many different kinds of poetry (ie. free verse, haiku, found, etc.) almost any form of written word that follows some form can be considered poetry. Poetry is made almost entirely of flow - you can have an incredibly emotional poem about love, spilling tons of effort into your choice of words, but if you don't put them in the right order.? It becomes almost painful to read. So, poetry is mroe flow over words.
In other words, poetry is the flow of emotions into words, put onto paper in such a way that makes a very distinctive, profound, and emotional impact on the reader. Or, if you wanted a technical aspect, the flow (as in, the way the story flows when it is read aloud, or in ones' head.)
Poetry is one of those things that is really up to the individual to define, honestly. Some people would say I am entirely wrong, and that a poem is all about the syllables and words used.
To illustrate my point, I will give you two poems:
1.) Flowing from the brain
Words forming in heads
Learning of the world.
2.) Flowing from my brain,
Words forming in fiery heads
The Learning in this world.
I don't know about you, but I prefer the second poem. You might prefer the first. It depends on a person's personal preference of flow.
So, I'm sorry if this wasn't very helpful. I'm not good at explaining things.... ;-;
I do write a lot of poetry, but, it comes so naturally to my head that I never think. I tend to listen to music as I write poetry, which is why my poetry has a good flow. (Well, I'd like to think so. :)
Anytime you have a question, I'm always here!
-[insert name here]
P.s. I am usually better at explaining things.... but this... well, poetry is subjective. Also, sorry this was so long.
Hmm. I didn't like either of those small poems, but they ARE only examples.
As for her definition... I suppose it's what I expected, really. I like it. Maybe I should start asking a new question, though, because if utter shit (and I'm speaking generally, not about PoetGirl's work) can be a poem, then.. Well, then what's the point of asking?
So maybe I should start asking this: What makes a poem good? I could always ask the both of them together.
I like PoetGirl. I may not like her poetry very much, but she's got a lovely personality, from what I've seen. I'll ask her the next question, I think.
My legs are soft. I was poking them, watching my skin bounce back into place and I thought it was strange that it could appear as if nothing had ever touched it a second after I moved my finger. It reverts to the shape is was, and then the lighter mark where the pressure of my hand had pushed the blood away goes back to its normal color.
How bizarre is that?
No one could know I had been poking my legs and pressing my hands onto them.
I don't know exactly what I'm trying to figure out, here. Somehow, it seems important.
The light is slanted right now, because it's six PM in early September. Whenever it gets to this time of day I get the feeling that the light has been slanted for years. I want to go out, see my stretched shadow. I think I'll go for a walk after this.
I've been noticing things, lately. I never realized how loud airplanes are. I live across the river from an airport, so they're always either descending or ascending when they fly over my house. They're tiny in the sky, but still so loud. I always remember Donnie Darko and I brace myself for the fiery crash I'll hear in the distance.
I used to watch them fly overhead when I was little. I don't remember hearing it the way I do now.
And then, the sirens. There have been a lot of ambulances racing by at all times of the day. I don't remember there being so many, except for when I was at Lily's house.
Lily lives 5 or so blocks away (a ten to fifteen minute walk) and whenever I'd sleep over at her house, I'd stare out the window (the glass is old and wavy in her living room) and listen as they passed her home at least three times. It was a new experience, because my street is pretty quiet in the nighttime.
I guess not. I can't tell if all these emergencies are a new thing or I just never bothered paying attention.
Maybe they changed routes. Well, they race by at two in the morning sometimes and I always tense up because they're so loud and loud noises make me nervous. And then, as they're driving away, I think of the doppler effect. Something about sound waves. I should gain a clearer understanding of that concept, because I've forgotten what it really means.
I feel strange, all of the sudden. The sun is disappearing. I should go outside before it's too late. I miss going out with April and sitting in the cemetery grass, ripping it up and throwing it over myself. She'd be chasing squirrels and sticking her head in groundhog holes.
That's another new sound!!! The squirrel sounds, I mean. I swear, when I went with April, they never made a peep. But the first day she was too sick to walk, I went alone and I heard them chittering and screaming.
I don't know if I like squirrels too much. I stood by a tree for ten minutes before I left (this was back in June) and asked them to talk to me (I know, I'm a crazy person. What can I say, I like animals?) but they wouldn't screech or chase each other around.
I think they might've been afraid of me.
I change my mind. PoetGirl's work isn't half bad. Maybe.