Ars Poetica


There was a time when I pursued poetry with a passion, and I've often times thought about picking it up again. Somehow I feel like I've lost a bit of that fearless spirit I once had: The one that comes with the unabashed whimsy of youth. Perhaps I will find it another day.


This poem by Archibald Macleish speaks of the wordless poems seen throughout life; in the ordinary or beautiful things in life, on ordinary or beautiful days, in joys and in sadness, and in a ways a state of being as opposed to state of meaning. The ways in which writing a poem is more than words to be deciphered. It applies not only to the wordless ways a poem must say more, but to the wordless way an art piece must speak. Like a 1000 words or more not spoken in any given picture and between each line of verse.


A poem should be palpable and mute

As a globed fruit,


Dumb

As old medallions to the thumb,


Silent as the sleeve-worn stone

Of casement ledges where the moss has grown --


A poem should be wordless

As the flight of birds.


A poem should be motionless in time

As the moon climbs,


Leaving, as the moon releases

Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,


Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,

Memory by memory the mind --


A poem should be motionless in time

As the moon climbs,


A poem should be equal to:

Not true.


For the history of grief

An empty doorway and a maple leaf.


For love

The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea --


A poem should not mean.

But be.






#art #artist #poetry #poem #emotion #passion #meaning

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