Poetry is highest form of truth. Ability of a poet lies in seeing it. The purity of poem is slave to the integrity of its poet in expressing the truth as he has seen it in its natural habitat. Natural habitat is critical component because no truth is complete without its context. That is the reason a poet speaks in terms of allegory, similes, references, and linguistic parallels- to capture the truth in its habitat, to increases its accuracy. Mentioning beauty as ‘beauty’ is not enough, its colour, its smell, the hour of its being, and as many more details, all add to complete truth of the beauty-like a jigsaw puzzle. Poet always looks for words and phrases, references, and similes to complete that picture as accurately as possible.
However, If there is only one truth then only one poem would be possible. Therefore, all poets must believe that there is no permanent truth that holds time together as a continuum, but time is forming its continuum with innumerable moments stuffed together, flowing from past to future via present, and each moment containing its own truth. The life mission of poet is to describe the truth in its completeness, with its context, but only in that moment.
A poet captures a moment exactly, as it unfolds, not only visually, but also perceptively. Labour of a poet is not to superimpose the lens of his perception on what he sees, but to train himself to continuously destroy this extremely regenerative creature of perception and directly talk to the unfolding moment to figure out the perspective of the moment itself. When humans fly they are merely mimicking the bird like a poet who is describing what he see with his own perspective, true poet doesn’t mimic but becomes a bird himself.
Brodsky said that a poem is not built around a theme. Theme is not even necessary, only incidental, if it emerges at all. Theme, mostly, is nothing but interference of perspective in truth. Its only very rarely that the truth and perspective of poet are in complete alignment. When that happens theme becomes the crowning glory of a poem.
Poetry is essentially language trying to abandon limitations of its structure and morphing itself into a fluidity which can hold truth in its original shape; rather than compressing, corner cutting, and reshaping it to fit it into structure of language. And, that is the reason why poetry is the supreme achievement of the language; and by Implication, of human race. Poetry is what comes closest to the intellectual conception of god, without endowing god the power of imposing itself on us.
Ironically, means themselves turn in to obstacle. The way wings set the limit to flight, language itself restricts how much truth- untainted by perception- a poet can capture. Therefore, all poets endeavour to minimise the use of language by only picking up the strongest of symbolism that the language has to offer. That is the sign of growth of a poet- words starts reducing to symbols. This puts immense pressure on the reader who also has to keep growing to keep up with the poet. To think of it, the poet and his reader are both essentially poets varying only in degree, and laziness- reader is lazier because he looks for someone else, the poet, to supply the sensation rather than taking it directly. Truth, not in its pristine form, not as it is seen by the poet, but for the benefit of the lazy preserved in words and reduced in the process.
In ideal form poetry should be wordless. A flow of truth without a medium, and thus without the distortion caused by limitation of the medium. Akin to love.-whose joy, in purest form, is independent of even the object of that love. It comes from inside- though began with one object- encompasses all. In fact, restricting it to only the object of love destroys it, why else so many real world stories will turn sour? Same is the relation between language and poetry. True love is free of love object, not a slave of it, true poem should be free of language, not a slave of it. A true poet will not blemish poetry with limitations of language, and thus will be alone his own reader. What we readers have read so far are poets who have failed in various degrees in reaching this perfection. As mere readers we may perhaps never know about true poets as they would be the ones who would eventually develop ability to express without a medium. In such a world, if it ever exists, there can be no difference in poet and readers, they will have to be but one because medium (language) that separates the two will be lost for ever.
You are a poet no doubt. Within the limitation of what can be. I have spent time carefully reading your poems. Poignancy that they generate while expressing some of the feelings guarantees that they have backing of truth i.e. poet is attempting to express them as she has seen them. In your lines I have sensed a tenderness of feelings that strangely forced one to close the eyes fearing hurting those feeling even by looking at the words expressing them. Sometimes even closing the eyes doesn’t feel enough and I end up clinching my fists to steady my breath lest slightest of stir may disturb the most gentle vibration that those words have caused in my mind. But, then, in the same poem, a few lines down, you make sure to hide a knife, sharp and bloody. There always follow the lines which break the ascent of tenderness with a shrill cry of slaughter and gore. Why your poems always begins with the tenderness of a mother’s lament who fears that next moment she may have to slaughter her own child? Is there a method to it! Is it that this tenderness of lament is borne out of fear of slaughter. This is such a love that it takes root only in dark soil of fear of death, slaughter, and separation? Is love nothing but an antidote to fear of death? If so then the world it inhabits is indeed a very dark place.
-Pulastya
