And I choose from hereon in to emphasize that sacred seed of poetry, the essence within every word despite the tone or subject matter, even despite the poet on that particular day, because poetry begins in the sacred realm of consciousness, connected to the infinite by its very nature. No matter how secular or profane the intent, the minute the poem begins to write itself, the divine is revealed.
Write a poem that praises atheism on the highest and the poem itself becomes a prayer to all that’s holy. Write a poem steeped in bloody murder and the poem gives birth to wonder. Because the mere act of poetry is paean to all creation. It is in fact one with that creation. It is creation.
Deny it all you want, revolt against its very existence with all your energies and will, ignore it with the best laid plans of existential man and woman all alone in this cold material world, but the moment you turn in its direction, creation blesses you with its presence. In other words, you can’t create a thing without bowing to creation.
COLD AND SOLITUDE
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Freezing weather here after a snowfall. Here again is a winter hokku by
Hashin: No sky, no earth;Only snowCeaselessly falling. And here is Kimio
Eto playin...
2 months ago
1 comment:
I love what you're writing about; and agree, poetry has to bow to creation. The best things come out of the spontaneous creation, the time where we wander into not-knowing. :)
I shall be back!
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