Poetry

If I may be so conceited as to regard myself a writer, I wish to put forth a point on my own writing. I respect poetry as an art, and recognize the freedom of expression it allows in comparison to prose— however it is that same open ambiguous liberty that prevents me from ever tolerating it in my own work. Poetry is beautiful, airy sweet. It is celebration of emotion, it is music. Something deep and ambiguous which speaks differently to all who read it. But to me it is as unpalatable as a sugary confection in the face of hunger. Pleasant for light tastes here and there, but to me it lacks fuller substance.

Poetry is a beloved art for its rhythmic and artistic use of language, the freedom from the regulations or frankness demanded of other writings, and its apparent expression of difficult subjects. But that freedom makes it easy. Ambiguity is praised, and a writer may choose any path to frame the rudiments of an idea. It then becomes an easy, unrefined form of art. It achieves all it is praised for through a lack of effort, abandoning prose’s framework. But my intent as an author is to overcome the necessity of poetry. If I cannot capture the poetry of language, articulate ideals, within the natural framework of writing then it reflects a lack of ability on my own part. I strive in my writing for the grace and emotion of poetry within elegance and detail of prose.

The language of poetry is lovely, and the freedom of verse allows for an aesthetic pleasantry reminiscent of a more visual art. However that is not what writing is intended to be, writing is the most refined form of language humans have available, and it is deserving of the respect that entails. Sculpture and portraits are all beautiful windows of expression, effective at highlighting the menageries of our condition, but in emulating this with poetry we are attempting to transform language into something it is not— rather than developing its full potential as a linguistic art. If a writer cannot capture all that poetry has to offer, in verse and “poetic language,” in any other form than that reflects a failure on the writer’s part, not the language’s.

Moreover, poetry is inherently ambiguous in style, which is a tragedy to organic growth. Are you familiar with the concept of linguistic relativity? Our thoughts are limited by our ability to articulate them. We struggle to conceive of ideas we cannot put into words, and thus our expansion in those areas is sadly limited. The masses claim poetry is used to express that which cannot be defined in ordinary language, and leave it there. I reject that, I abhor it, and I deplore it. To admire and pander to this abandonment of the very attempt to articulate these profound and “indescribable” things is to condemn ourselves to never truly understand them; to bar ourselves from future, higher comprehensions as we come to grasp these ideas and move on in directions they lead us.

I question, I struggle, I fight in every thought, in every piece of writing, to conceive of new ideas, and define them as explicitly as is possible. Because in doing so I open up new avenues of thought. I allow myself to realize new facets of life, and to incite such thought in others. One may be born with an innate sense of what is right and what is wrong, but without articulating morality we cannot debate and hammer out the finer nuances of the subject. We cannot progress beyond an animalistic gut instinct.

. I am attempting to definitively articulate the necessity of definitive articulation to my cognition and linguistics. To transcend the half formed mysteries of poetry is my personal quest. To do so is to preserve the true heights of beauty, and thus my highest aspiration.