Poetry, A World Of Its Own

Poetry can be a fantasy world where the raw untamed truth is allowed to parade its depths in chameleon fashions whilst keeping its essence true through metaphor, which in my opinion also puts poetry in a league of its own. The metaphoric value is of enormous importance and is subject to various meanings, bringing an array of insights into the depths it fosters. The precision in which the poet can dissect his psyche and serve it up for display is quite the art form. We find the formation of language used, often portrays commonality, rarity, magic, painful, playful, ugly, beauty, elegance, truth, mystical, grace, dignity, morality and freedom (just to name a few) inside the world of poetry. The Infliction which words can carry cut deep into the ones whom feel in the depths, but emotion is not solitary in this process, to understand it in its entirety it must include the intellect, imagination and emotional body, just like the wholeness of seeing the complete picture of any sort, or art work, so to must the unity of heart, mind and spirit find its way through the poetry and into the reader.

Imagery Art has the ability to invoke the feeling of poetry by appearance alone, whereas literature poetry is felt through words and bought to life through the individual, and music gives poetry the essence of vibration which slices through the flesh to give rise to deep emotions. All art has the ability to have infinite perceptions placed upon it, sparking the deep fire of one's own imagination, which slings a burning arrow through conception and into the heart. You can find art and poetry even in the most mundane aspects of life, you create the art yet the art can also create you.

It was the moment I watched the key move back and forth from my car ignition that I felt art could exist in every movement and at anytime. The key looked as though it were dancing, and the golden sun glimmered off the stainless silver metal surface each time it moved forward, the key moving seamlessly between the light and the shadow, the carving of the key rough, fine and deliberate, and when watching the freedom of the movement coincide with the constraint of its performance, it struck me, art is in nature and man is living art, we are the perceivers which have the ability to tap into the conceivement and endless creation of all and any art forms. Something as simple as a moving object opened my eyes to another layer of existence. Art needn't be an epic poem, a Van Gough painting or a sculpture created by Michelangelo, it can be as simple as the conception in which you can bring forward, from imagination and into creation, and as Rollo May stated,

"Creativity arises out of the tension between spontaneity and limitations, the latter (like the river banks) forcing the spontaneity into the various forms which are essential to the work of art or poem."

~The courage to create, Roll May.

So perhaps what we see here is the imagination delivering the goods through the intellect, and the limitation condenses the imaginative process into material creation.

Art can be mysterious and fall into a mystic type phenomenon, it seems closely related to all things which don't seem to pertain strictly to the mind, and even in trying to define the mind we struggle with any concrete evidence. All the things in which are indefinable, unexplainable and mysterious should be treasured by the individual as they are the closest one may get to obtaining a glimpse into the unobtainable. The eternal grand mysteries keep the spark of the human mind alight, and keep the wheels of intrigue spinning on the axis of interchangeable and open states of mind, that will hopefully sustain the human heart, mind and soul in man, and cascade out into society.

All good Poetry should take you somewhere, all good music should make you feel something and all good imagery art should foster the other worldly appearance and connection through your own conception and spirit. To understand art is to deeply understand yourself. To live in the world of poetry is to mellow out, yet acknowledge the atrocities of this one. The art resides in firstly the conception of the poetry itself and then the intellect, bridging the two into a woven dialogue of aesthetic context. I sometimes think of poetry like a dream state, where you are aware of the absurdities, atrocities, vileness and vices but take them on through an alchemized process of transmuting the darkened aspects into their opposites through sublime language, bringing them forth aesthetically in sombre tones to combine the two into one piece of art, hoping to breathe life into an awareness that lay dormant in man.

~Leya Hunter.