There are many different forms of poetry. Some poems adhere to strict rules of rhyme and rhythm, others flow freely and don’t even rhyme at all. Those are called lyric. And then there is poetry like Dadaism where only a sequence of nonsensical words made of certain sounds are strung like beads on a string to form a flow of a meaningless stream that hold meaning to, perhaps the poet, or to you, if you give it meaning, much like an abstract painting.
Shakespeare is possibly the world’s most renowned poet and his writings contain deeper truths at times, at other times, they are full of mirth, or dark like the shadows of the shadows within your own soul. Then again, there is love and light. My personal favourite of his, “my big bro Will,” as I call him affectionately, is Sonnet 18, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day.”
Tirza Schaefer & William Shakespeare at the Shakespeare Centre in Stratford-upon-Avon
Poetry encompasses the entire range of human emotion and celebrates deep feelings, from the highest love to the lowest depravities. There is spiritual poetry and erotic, and anything in-between.
What makes poetry so special and also necessary is the fact that it stimulates a different part of the brain than, say, a textbook which targets analytical thinking. And of course, an infinite number of works have been written about the analysis of poetry. And that is a great thing. For the learner and interested person, it provides a host of deeper insights into a poet’s work, in general, as well as in particular.
But what really is so incredible about poetry is not that it follows rules or techniques, but that it speaks to a deeper part of us, beyond critical thinking, going right for the heart space, whether this is in a positive or negative way. Personally, suicidal poetry drags me down emotionally a lot more than suicidal fiction or a psychological discourse on the nature of severe clinical depression.
But poetry can also be a catalyst to great healing, to elevated feelings, to a greater appreciation of beauty and love, and to write it, it can be a great tool for self-expression, as well as self-healing. Therefore, I would like to end this short excursion into the infinite world of poetry by showcasing one of my own works which describes a spiritual and emotional cleansing I have undergone last year in spring and subsequently wrote this poem about to “digest” the entire experience and integrate it on a deeper level. (Video below.)
The Cleansing
Things are happening
Not to me, but through me
At a rate that is crazy
Dizzying, frenzied
Tears streaming down over my skin
Washing away the poison
In a cleansing within
All that pain is flowing out of my body
With silent, screaming tears of deep release
The pain beyond sound
My voice falters and dies
I cradle my little daughter in my arms
Reassuring her, and clinging on to her
For dear life
While the child holds the loving space
With wisdom and courage
Beyond her years
For me to heal and soothe that inner child
That had been so deeply hurt
And now, finally, feels whole and safe
I feel raw and exhausted
Yet infinitely blessed
I lie down in bed
And take a rest
Deep sleep envelops me
I feel like I’ve had open-heart surgery
And need to recuperate
When I open my eyes next and get up
I seek out my daughter
Make sure she is fine and understands
That a healing occurred
And not an act of deepest despair
But a letting go of it
And I thank her for being there
And supporting me in it
We hug again and I feel so much lighter now
Than what I used to be
In this new, infinitely freer reality
And after dinner we go to bed
She sleeps tonight
Beside me in my bed
While her hand gently rests on my arm
I watch her drift into dreamland
And I’m awake
Wide awake
And think I should type up
The little story of Picasso I told a friend
The other day
Of which I kept the audio
From our WhatsApp conversation
For this purpose
My friend upon hearing it
Had urged me to write it down for kids and teens
As a motivational speech
The way I told my little daughter Tarini first
And while I’m typing
I begin to understand
That this is something greater
Way beyond a little story
Short and sweet
But now pours from me
In a forceful stream
Thrashing its way
Through my fingertips, the keyboard
Into physical reality
Words on my computer screen
After 4 a.m.
My fingers are red and raw
The story is told
And all it needs is a frame
To be spread in book form
Throughout the world
For the young ones, the wise ones
On this earth to read
And finally, gently
I drift off to sleep
Happy that inspiration
Had so driven me
Until now loosening its tight grip
Rest and dreams envelop me
(1 May 2016 – 01)
Which poems do you love the most and how you feel about them?