Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Who She Be?

As the world peers upon those who write poems, messages are being transmitted through time and space for personal and public sharing.  It is the reason a poet sits in some corner of the world while building framework to invoke thinking, feeling and perceptions.  So, this poet without formal training in poems or works of the great poets has created a method solely her own.  I hadn’t known myself before picking up the pen, so I find that I am writing to the past, present and future and with this scope my freedom ranges beyond traditions.  I tend to reverberate the sounds of the beat poets from the sixties and while my voice began in rhyme schemes, I quickly understood it was looked upon in distaste, for the simplistic style of a juvenile.  True, in a sense, the rhyme is childish but it also must not be dismissed for that childlike quality, as Dr. Seuss, in my opinion changed a generations collective thinking with the rhythmic flow of tightly structured rhymes.  He gave us tons of fun.  In essence, it ignited my ignition and cognition that was lost to me as a youth.

Upon trolling the internet for interesting answers and validations of my personal history, I had run across the visual world I forgot.  In many ways, the visual always translated into the poetical because I lacked vocals in speech and language.  I selected my thoughts into unknown corners and they remained there in the dark, waiting for reemergence.  I held my tongue over the years as my brain only processed pain.  I didn’t want it to slipped out pass my lips and overwhelm others.  So, instead of ignoring my anguish, I set it down to rest in the form of poetry.  Little pieces of my identity began to proceed.  The little chips or I should say clips of my creative endeavors have helped redefine what was mine to begin with, a persona or personality wanted by an unwarranted intruder.  Instead, I was brought back to great artists, who had chipped away at their toils, like Michelangelo, when he said, “Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it” and “The best artist has that thought alone Which is contained within the marble shell; The sculptor's hand can only break the spell To free the figures slumbering in the stone.”  Finally, “A man paints with his brains and not with his hands.”

As each flip of the virtual page, another idea builds upon the last and so I push forward to return the favor.  In short, quotes have been the dots of my connections to years gone by.  The stars aligned like constellations in my dark delusions, floating between points of light.  “It took me 40 years to find out that painting is not sculpture,” Paul Cezanne is quoted.  While I live by the motto of another great as Rembrandt van Rijn stated, “Practice what you know, and it will help to make clear what now you do not know.”  It is the visions of these luminous visionaries that I find inspiration and make what I can of what they have shown the world.  I am arrested by the fabulous words of many great thinkers and must leave this repose with quotes.  The site I favor has been Quote Garden.  

This has been a brief introduction of the person behind the words, a builder within strings of theories, where particles amass multitudes of ideas and compositions.  We are not wandering souls, for the moment a poet finds a pen or keyboard the thoughts of years gone meet the present and the spirit gathers them together for construction to last into the future.  Thirty seconds or thirty years, it took me forty years to begin.

The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means and hold it fixed so that a hundred years later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life.  ~William Faulkner

Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.  ~Leonardo da Vinci

Art is the desire of a man to express himself, to record the reactions of his personality to the world he lives in.  ~Amy Lowell

Everything in creation has its appointed painter or poet and remains in bondage like the princess in the fairy tale 'til its appropriate liberator comes to set it free.  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

The progress of an artist is a continual self-sacrifice, a continual extinction of personality.  ~T.S. Eliot, Tradition and the Individual Talent, 1919

Nothing exists except atoms and empty space: everything else is opinion. ~ Democritius 460-370 B.C.

Our sins are more easily remembered than our good deeds. ~ Democritius 460-370 B.C.

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