I’ve never been fond of Poetry. Having to interpret them in high school and college seemed so useless to me. Don’t get me wrong, some poems are written beautifully and evoke certain emotions that cannot be explained. But that’s what I prefer to enjoy, that raw euphoria experienced from reading/hearing the poem for the first time. I want to take my own personal experience from it and I don’t want to be told that this interpretation is what the poet possibly meant. I am positive that no poet knowingly writes their poems for it to be dissected and analyzed by scholars. That would definitely ruin the fun and pure emotions of writing the poem.
What I wish the most is that I could enjoy poetry the way I appreciate the beauty of sculptures and paintings. The curvature, brush strokes and colors chosen by the artist tap deep within a place of great appreciation. And yes, I have taken art courses where they probe an scrutinize the work of the artist. But it never seems to ruin my initial response or reaction. I don’t know if its due to my wild imagination or the fact that I am possibly a unicorn lol. But my reaction to art tends to be positive. But for poetry I feel like I’ve lost something that cannot be retrieved. Its as if the professor molded and shaped my initial experience to his version of what I should be taking from the poem.
But this is a poetry appreciation post, and though I am not a huge poetry lover I would like to share my favorite poem. It’s from Sylvia Plath. I know her poetry is known to be morbidly depressing but there is something in her poems that I am able to appreciate without any bias or judgment.
If the moon smiled, she would resemble you.
You leave the same impression
Of something beautiful, but annihilating.
Both of you are great light borrowers.
Her O-mouth grieves at the world; yours is unaffected,
And your first gift is making stone out of everything.
I wake to a mausoleum; you are here,
Ticking your fingers on the marble table, looking for cigarettes,
Spiteful as a woman, but not so nervous,
And dying to say something unanswerable.
The moon, too, abases her subjects
But in the daytime she is ridiculous.
Your dissatisfactions, on the other hand,
Arrive through the mailslot with loving regularity,
White and blank, expansive as carbon monoxide.
No day is safe from news of you,
Walking about in Africa maybe, but thinking of me
You may like or you don’t. But take from it what you want. It’s not for me to ruin your experience :).
With that said, share your favorite poems or poems you have written. I would love to read them.