Poetry (pen) Pals #12

Why do you write poetry?

Hey,

On the week of World Poetry Day I found myself rooting around for poems that celebrate and attempt to comprehend the act of poetry writing itself. I realised that I myself had written quite a few. And I sense that I’m not alone. I sense that poets like to write about poetry writing.

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

It left me wondering about why.

Is it a desire to try and explain the unexplainable? Or at least marvel at the unexplainable? Like, when you watch a magic trick done well and you’re pretty sure there will be a logical solution to how it was done and yet, you are breath-taken, you can’t look away from the fact that maybe, just maybe, there isn’t.

Or is it a search for internal answers, another therapeutic layer beneath the already therapeutic nature of some poetry writing?

Or is it more of a desire to share how poetry really works. An attempt to decipher or dismantle this form that can still be so misunderstood. That can feel inaccessible, that can still feel elitist, for the few.

Or is it simply an eagerness to share our love for this form of writing full stop. When you love something of course you want to shout about it. Of course you obsess over it. Like a treasured doll you carry it around and when others suggest that maybe your choice of toy wouldn’t make it into the toy shop window display you feel personally aggrieved. Protective almost. But look here at it’s tattered edges, you respond, there is so much beauty to be found in where this toy has travelled, let me tell you about it.

In my experience those who love poetry, love it hard.

Whatever the reason (there are no doubt many) I think writing poetry about poetry can be a rather pleasant way to spend an afternoon (or a half hour bus journey).

A final reason for why I have chosen to muse on writing poetry about writing poetry this week (and I appreciate that some may well have never done this before btw): When I wrote an update on The Year of 100 Poems earlier this week, I mentioned that keeping your WHY front of mind can help to keep the poetry flowing.

Because the reason you write poetry will be completely personal to you.

So when I find myself with five minutes waiting for a pan of water to boil, knowing that reading a couple of poems from our Friday round up will make me feel immeasurably more fulfilled than hearing about a stranger’s new nail extensions on Facebook, helps me to make better decisions.

Or when I get a bit of perfection paralysis and a poem pushes back against my pen, remembering that poetry writing is meant to be fun, benefits from being playful, I write because it brings me joy - helps me to smile as opposed to grimace.

Writing about why we write poetry can reaffirm and encourage and support our writing practise. It can be a nice reminder for us (and others if we choose to share) to keep going. A nice celebration of this craft that has our hearts. For when one is needed. And for when one is not needed but we can’t help ourselves. Or maybe even to discover why this form of writing has our hearts (after all, a great poem surprises even the writer).

Here’s my attempt:

Poetry got me…

hunting down golden hours. Zooming in to love on a girls Instagram photograph. Using a teaspoon to eat breakfast. Remembering that I’m a dog person. Flatlining, on purpose. Wondering about that half-a-heart on a string. Not asking what the weather is going to be like in ten-days-time. Hesitating before jumping off the sofa. Jumping off the sofa. Wondering about that half-a-heart on a string. Scraping my nails down dinner plates to see about handling that sound it brings. Looking for entry points on river banks. And the sea, especially. Spooning Winter-time, my neck nuzzled into its neck. Licking the spoon, front and back. Lying under a kitchen table with the kids. Noting down 3am car crashes. Sometimes fixing shit back together on the side of a blue sky. Realising I’m not my mother. Saying the word candy out loud. And clouds, often. Picking up that half-a-heart on a string. Skateboarding through the decades before it all. Giving myself ten out of ten for nailing that laugh. Craving a whiskey sour. And a cigarette. In a low-lit American bar past midnight. Wanting it all, just for one night. Believing I can hug anyone happy again. Or at least human. Or at least held. And what else is there.

Your poetry writing prompt for this week:

SO, tell me, how has poetry got you?

Why do you weave your words?

Nelly x