I have a pretty good reason to write this post. I always wanted to write it :-)
I always speak of poem and painting in alike terms, to drive home this point that just like a painting, a poem too is a piece of art. And art is part reality, part imagination. We let a painter draw fire to show wrath, or a distorted face to show pain, and never question why did he draw this, or whether his life was so full of pain that he needed to express it out. We simply accept it as creativity and originality of his work. But on the other hand, when we read a poem that speaks of pain, we conclude on our own that the poet has gone through certain irreparable loss in his life. Which might be true in a few cases, but not always. Quite possible that somebody after going through a personal loss, becomes a remarkable poet, but not everybody who goes through a personal trauma becomes a poet. Similarly everyone who writes, might not be a writer because of any personal loss. He could simply be giving an outlet to his creativity and imagination ... or else how do you think the hindi movie songs are written on themes. I call it "Role Playing".
Another thing is, that an artist is endowed with a capacity to feel things more acutely. Take for example 'Pain'. A writer might have a keener sense to observe pain and experience it...even if it is somebody else's. They tend to Empathise. Call it God's 'gift' to the artist or a 'burden', but he can't escape from this empathetic sixth sense bestowed on him. That's why he can experience other's pain as his own and portray it. I would also like to share a few lines of this beautiful poem by Persian poetess Forough Farrokhzad -
"On the walls of my house,
He might also have a philosophy of life which is reflected in his poems. He might be pained by the hypocricy of society and might feel suffocated by it. In the lines of Kedarnath Singh-
"मुक्ति का जब कोई रास्ता नहीं मिला
मैं लिखने बैठ गया हूँ ."
The same suffocation you can feel in these lines by P.B Shelley in his 'Ode To The West Wind '-
"Oh ! Lift me like a wave, a leaf, a cloud
I fall upon the thorns of life, I bleed.
A heavy weight of hours had chained and bowed
One too like thee, tameless, and swift and proud . "
But of course, creativity is born out of a yearning. Call it a yearning to express one's self, to seek one's self, to understand life or to just create something that lives after you. All creativity is born out of this yearning . I'll quote these lines from Shiv mangal singh Suman's poem-
"कैसे चल पाता यदि न मिला
होता मुझको आकुल-अन्तर,
कैसे चल पाता यदि मिलते
चिर-तृप्ति अमरता-पूर्ण प्रहर..."
I've been answering this question by friends about what makes me write ? They can't find a reason behind my writing, and that too 'Sad' poems. They find it depressing at times. For me it's a way to create magic. There was an easier way out ... hiding my real identity and writing all that comes to my mind. People do that and it definitely gives them an unimaginable freedom to create. I just can't do that, for I want my writings to be known by MY name.
To clear all confusions, I share two of my poems on the same topic-
End Of The Begining .
First
dies a slow, painful death
your zeal.
Then perish
your long cherished dreams .
Hope does flutter a little while though
in the barred cage
of your heart,
till one morning
you find it's tiny body
lying at the bottom...
lifeless .
Is it
the End of the Begining ?
Of all those tiny thoughts
that once made you smile,
Leaving you in a daze to meander
through the unruly course
called Life.
Sometimes when things end,
All the beginings end .
------------------------------------------
Beginings Never End.
Often darkish grows the skyline
Stars hide behind the clouds,
Dreams end up broken , fine
But, does life ever end ?
However hard the wind may blow
And turn your sails upside down,
If you just do not give up,
You might never really drown .
This is what I've learned from life
You just need the will to strive
And of course, you will survive.
Beginings Never End .
-------------------------------------------------
Read, but please do not be judgemental about the poet. Give him the freedom to create and let his imaginations fly high. Do not stamp his poems like you won't stamp a painter's art . You see the beauty of a painting and appreciate. Poet is no different :-)
- Meeta .
I always speak of poem and painting in alike terms, to drive home this point that just like a painting, a poem too is a piece of art. And art is part reality, part imagination. We let a painter draw fire to show wrath, or a distorted face to show pain, and never question why did he draw this, or whether his life was so full of pain that he needed to express it out. We simply accept it as creativity and originality of his work. But on the other hand, when we read a poem that speaks of pain, we conclude on our own that the poet has gone through certain irreparable loss in his life. Which might be true in a few cases, but not always. Quite possible that somebody after going through a personal loss, becomes a remarkable poet, but not everybody who goes through a personal trauma becomes a poet. Similarly everyone who writes, might not be a writer because of any personal loss. He could simply be giving an outlet to his creativity and imagination ... or else how do you think the hindi movie songs are written on themes. I call it "Role Playing".
Another thing is, that an artist is endowed with a capacity to feel things more acutely. Take for example 'Pain'. A writer might have a keener sense to observe pain and experience it...even if it is somebody else's. They tend to Empathise. Call it God's 'gift' to the artist or a 'burden', but he can't escape from this empathetic sixth sense bestowed on him. That's why he can experience other's pain as his own and portray it. I would also like to share a few lines of this beautiful poem by Persian poetess Forough Farrokhzad -
"On the walls of my house,
as small as a day,
as great as the life,
with the dark chalk,
and the scalpel of love–
the passers left me notes;
they carved their names-
and hopes.
On the walls of my house,
as small as a day,
as great as the life
the passers let me know-
their sorrow,
their dreams,
their never-told words;
And these broken words,
penetrating my core,
piecing into my heart,
they rain, they stream,
from my hazy eyes,
like the falling stars!"
He might also have a philosophy of life which is reflected in his poems. He might be pained by the hypocricy of society and might feel suffocated by it. In the lines of Kedarnath Singh-
"मुक्ति का जब कोई रास्ता नहीं मिला
मैं लिखने बैठ गया हूँ ."
The same suffocation you can feel in these lines by P.B Shelley in his 'Ode To The West Wind '-
"Oh ! Lift me like a wave, a leaf, a cloud
I fall upon the thorns of life, I bleed.
A heavy weight of hours had chained and bowed
One too like thee, tameless, and swift and proud . "
But of course, creativity is born out of a yearning. Call it a yearning to express one's self, to seek one's self, to understand life or to just create something that lives after you. All creativity is born out of this yearning . I'll quote these lines from Shiv mangal singh Suman's poem-
"कैसे चल पाता यदि न मिला
होता मुझको आकुल-अन्तर,
कैसे चल पाता यदि मिलते
चिर-तृप्ति अमरता-पूर्ण प्रहर..."
I've been answering this question by friends about what makes me write ? They can't find a reason behind my writing, and that too 'Sad' poems. They find it depressing at times. For me it's a way to create magic. There was an easier way out ... hiding my real identity and writing all that comes to my mind. People do that and it definitely gives them an unimaginable freedom to create. I just can't do that, for I want my writings to be known by MY name.
To clear all confusions, I share two of my poems on the same topic-
End Of The Begining .
First
dies a slow, painful death
your zeal.
Then perish
your long cherished dreams .
Hope does flutter a little while though
in the barred cage
of your heart,
till one morning
you find it's tiny body
lying at the bottom...
lifeless .
Is it
the End of the Begining ?
Of all those tiny thoughts
that once made you smile,
Leaving you in a daze to meander
through the unruly course
called Life.
Sometimes when things end,
All the beginings end .
------------------------------------------
Beginings Never End.
Often darkish grows the skyline
Stars hide behind the clouds,
Dreams end up broken , fine
But, does life ever end ?
However hard the wind may blow
And turn your sails upside down,
If you just do not give up,
You might never really drown .
This is what I've learned from life
You just need the will to strive
And of course, you will survive.
Beginings Never End .
-------------------------------------------------
Read, but please do not be judgemental about the poet. Give him the freedom to create and let his imaginations fly high. Do not stamp his poems like you won't stamp a painter's art . You see the beauty of a painting and appreciate. Poet is no different :-)
- Meeta .
