.... ENTER POETRYDOM!
My 13-years-old niece wrote possibly one of her first poems and sent it across to my utter delight. I wrote back with one of my own. Not to be left behind in spontaneity, she responded soon enough with another, and yet another! Here they are in chronology:
When the tangy aroma filled the room,,
I slapped my book down with a loud "BOOM"!
I got up, dropping my pencil stand,
and ran out of the room, whacking my hand!
I stopped at the kitchen and looked around,
and there it was! Making a sizzling sound.
I picked up a spoon and tasted what was so attracting,
Oh, yum, yum, yum, it was most amazing!
Next to it, in a pan was potato fry,
finally, I can eat it with Puliyotharai!!!!!!!!!'
The response:
Welcome to the world of magic and miracles -
Chambers of secrets ;-) and flying bicycles,
Rainbows at night,
The philosopher's sight;
Oh, the pink talking pumpkin -
And most preciously, the Beauty within.
For, Poetry can take you to this world,
And leave you bewitched and bedazzled.
A world of priceless value,
The one right within You.
Imagine my Ecstasy at encountering
Humour, a necessary component to be able to pierce through the depth of life and its nuances;
A Romance with words and their meanings (the dancing and playing with words that adds the spice); and
Willingness to give Time & Attention to the Soul's flight, in the following piece:
Thanks a lot for the awesome reply,
about the yummy puliyotharai
and the delicious potato fry!
I will continue to write poems like this,
remembering it, I will not miss!
I will learn more new words,
and write about animals and birds;
about frogs and lizards,
witches and wizards;
plants and trees,
Rome and Greece;
bows and arrows,
joys and sorrows;
libraries and books,
anchors and hooks...
I will stop here...
if I write much more,
it would become a terrible bore!!!
And one more,
And one more,
I asked amma and appa about the blog,
They said they have no problem at all!
Though I don't know much about blogs,
I'm thinking about writing a poem on dogs!
Please do send a link to it,
I am waiting... I will not quit!
---------------------------
I remember what one of my all-time favourite poets, Mary Oliver says about this Willingness, the meeting of "poetry and soul":
"If Romeo and Juliet had made their appointments to meet, in the moonlight-swept orchard, in all the peril and sweetness of conspiracy, and then more often than not failed to meet — one or the other lagging, or afraid, or busy elsewhere — there would have been no romance, no passion, none of the drama for which we remember and celebrate them. Writing a poem is not so different—it is a kind of possible love affair between something like the heart (that courageous but also shy factory of emotion) and the learned skills of the conscious mind. They make appointments with each other, and keep them, and something begins to happen. Or, they make appointments with each other but are casual and often fail to keep them: count on it, nothing happens.
The part of the psyche that works in concert with consciousness and supplies a necessary part of the poem — the heart of the star as opposed to the shape of a star, let us say — exists in a mysterious, unmapped zone: not unconscious, not subconscious, but cautious. It learns quickly what sort of courtship it is going to be. Say you promise to be at your desk in the evenings, from seven to nine. It waits, it watches. If you are reliably there, it begins to show itself — soon it begins to arrive when you do. But if you are only there sometimes and are frequently late or inattentive, it will appear fleetingly, or it will not appear at all.
Why should it? It can wait. It can stay silent a lifetime. Who knows anyway what it is, that wild, silky part of ourselves without which no poem can live? But we do know this: if it is going to enter into a passionate relationship and speak what is in its own portion of your mind, the other responsible and purposeful part of you had better be a Romeo. It doesn’t matter if risk is somewhere close by — risk is always hovering somewhere. But it won’t involve itself with anything less than a perfect seriousness.
For the would-be writer of poems, this is the first and most essential thing to understand. It comes before everything, even technique."
