In a post a while back, I lauded the advent of the word-processor as a boon to the literary arts. It was certainly a boon to my personal literary endeavors. For me, writing and typing go hand-in-glove; having developed my composition skills in the digital realm, writing sans WP gets me nowhere.
Except when I’m writing poetry.
I write poetry. I am not a poet. There is a distinction, in my mind, at least. I write poetry when the right words, sweetly parsed and carefully linked, fall short. I write poetry when what I want – or need – to express can only be realized in sounds that rhyme and alliterate, in words that are unequivocally apt, and in rhythmic, metered phrases that drum upon the soul.
That’s what I’m going for, anyway.
Some of my poems aren’t half-bad, some are pretty good, and I’m actually proud of a few of them. Whole bunches of my poems are lyrics; words meant to be set to music… which may be an indication that the poetry ain’t that great. It’s not the tunes that make Bob Dylan’s Masters of War and Desolation Row so powerful, after all. Even when he puts song-structure front and center, goes all melodic on us, and throws in chorus-refrains (The Times They are a-Changin’, Tomorrow is a Long Time) Dylan’s lyrics are stand-alone, undeniably great poems.
So, yeah. I’m no Bob Dylan. Or Dylan Thomas, or Maya Angelou, or Seamus Heaney, to name a few of my faves. Still, fame does not determine Poet/non-Poet status. Few poets get the recognition they deserve (I’m talking about you, Blair Zarubick, Janet Guastavino, Lin Marie de Vincent). No, what puts these friends in the Poet’s Corner and keeps me out of it is that poetry is their go-to writing mode. Me, I go to prose.
I am somewhat in awe of those who find poetry the most natural way to channel their creative energies. Poetry is hard. Poetry is exacting, demanding, unforgiving. A weak sentence can hide in a novel, be overlooked, and quickly forgotten. There’s no place to hide in a poem. Poetry takes perverse pleasure in exposing every flaw and throwing a spotlight on it. Tangents are totally fine in a novel, as long as they’re done with wit and flair. Off the point in a poem sets the piece off-kilter; eventually it must totter and fall.
Given the option of writing an essay or a poem, I’ll take the essay, nine times out of ten. I was given that option just this week; to discuss the personification of nature in a poem by Garcia Lorca or write a poem in which a person has a dialogue with an element of nature. Guess it was Deca-Day. I surprised myself and chose the latter.
La Tormenta
˗˗ Revéleme su belleza, Doña Tormenta, Doña Tormenta.
˗˗ Claro, ve el destello de mis ojos
que ilumina el cielo.
˗˗ Cánteme su canción, Doña Tormenta, Doña Tormenta.
˗˗ Claro, oye el trueno de mi voz
que hace eco en tus huesos.
˗˗ Deme una excitación, Doña Tormenta, Doña Tormenta.
˗˗ Claro, claro, acércate a mí, sal a la lluvia.
Te envolveré en un manto de viento,
Y bailarás tú con los árboles extáticos.
The Storm
“Show me your beauty, Lady Storm, Lady Storm.”
“Claro, see the flash of my eyes
that lights up the heavens.”
“Sing me your song, Lady Storm, Lady Storm.”
“Claro, hear the thunder of my voice
that echoes in your bones.”
“Thrill me, Lady Storm, Lady Storm.”
“Claro, claro, come to me, come out into the rain.
I will wrap you in a mantle of wind,
And you will dance with the ecstatic trees.”
Maravilloso, especialmente en castellano, si eres un poeta.
Abrazos fuertes desde tu amigo, Adrián
Golly, thanks so much, ¡muchísimas gracias! Your responses are so gratifying, I had to bask in them for a day before responding.
La Tormenta almost didn’t get posted at all. Like Declan, I have written some awful poems in my time (are awful poems even poetry?). I felt wildly insecure about my Spanish grammar, syntax, and vocabulary choices – so hablante español Adrián’s sweet thumbs-up is terrifically encouraging. Gracias, amigo mío!
A second bout of doubt hit me when I tried to put the poem into English. The phrases turned clunky and unmusical, “Storm” stripped La Tormenta of her character (or rather, conjured a character from a Marvel Comic), and “of course” was so far off the aesthetic mark, I couldn’t bear to use it in place of claro. If the poem was that poor in translation, how could the original not be seriously flawed as well?
I was caught between Maribel C. Pagan’s contention that, “People know two languages: their native language and gibberish,” and Charles V’s famous line, “Je parle espagnol à Dieu, italien aux femmes, français aux hommes, et allemande à mon cheval (I speak Spanish to God, Italian to women, French to men, and German to my horse).” For me, Spanish is made for poetry like no other tongue I’ve encountered. I took a deep breath and up it went.
Oh, and the metaphorical connection Dec made between crafting fine whiskey and crafting fine poetry is spot on. Let me add that a jar of the one cannot help but enhance appreciation of the other.
Right, so I think I found two errors. Acercarse is probably more apt than acercar. And why did I suddenly switch to the usted command form for salir? What I love about the corrections, though… the rhythm of the line shifts only slightly (and not for the worse), and the payoff is fabulous alliteration on sal-a-la.
Not a poet,eh?
ONLY IN TWO LANGUAGES!!
Lovely post. If prose be beer then poetry is fine wine or whiskey. With the proviso that it takes great craft to make great beer and whiskey. And any oul eejit can make either; I should know, I used to make home brew, and have written some awful poems in my time ;-)
Such an honor to be called to this glorious post. So, though the essay is the form you think you are more comfortable in as a writer, but you chose to write poetry in ESPANOL. Dylan wrote that Spanish is the Loving Tongue. When I met you darling, you were a singer, and to me poems are songs written by people who cannot sing. Your prose is full of music and therefore poetry, as is all the truly great prose.So lovely, thank you again for the shout out.
Claro, claro, it is meant to be read aloud, as are all good poems.Its sounds and its rhythms are lulling and embracing. Gracias, mi amiga, mi querida corazon, por tu poema encantada.