Wandering Thought # 35

A poet is always writing, a painter always painting, a thinker always reflecting — even when carried by life and its humbug, even in the midst of acts so unlike their silent moments of creativity. Let a poet stay a hundred years (so to speak) without writing — in the end he is not diminished; in the end he is still caught in the eternal act of writing. Poetry is his mistress, his love, and he the hungry bee drowned to death in the cruel and burning sweetness of her honey.

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4 thoughts on “Wandering Thought # 35

    1. I don’t know if the religious ‘need’ being too strong in me and at the same time inaccessible I dissimulated poetry for its substitute and as the only way through which I could access the eternal and the divine. I’m not exactly sure about this point, although my introspection and intuition say that it is so; what I am sure of, on the other hand, is that whenever I try to think rationally and put this need on ice I shrivel and become the shadow of what I could be. But we know that ‘need’ is not the adequate term to describe the spirituality of it, what is going on.

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      1. I am more fascinated by how the two needs (love of the object and one’s religiosity) mix and lead to common action, but, if what you do and think serves you, then it serves you. What do I know and how is it my place to evaluate?

        You may ignore my suggestions and views. I am just giving vent to my little devil’s curiosity which I can best express like this:

        ‘What would happen to someone’s poetry if the poet focused less on himself and what he does, and more on what he loved, on his muse–which cannot possibly be his poetry without, at the same time, being ‘himself’. What is a poet obsessed with himself worth? Can Narcissus be a poet and if so of what worth, can he get the best out of himself…?’

        No need to take my little devil’s curiosity seriously, though. It’s a little like Socrates demon: he haunts me and rubs me up the wrong way. It’s supposed to be ironic, humorous, teasing… Nothing more, nothing less. 🙂

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        1. What would a poet be if he didn’t appreciate irony, humor, and tease…

          If the person whom you evaluate is wide and rich enough to step out of himself and his way and consider another perspective then he would find your evaluation valuable, and even if he rejects it ultimately he would be all the richer for it. If I stuck to what served and what worked for me then I would’ve been a pretty bland human being.

          A poet is as great as is his muse. By glorifying his muse he himself is glorified. And to his muse he gives his whole life even to the point of annihilation and death (in Sufi terminology the state of annihilation is the highest state). A narcissistic poet, conversely, is one who is full of pomp and veneer, and one who doesn’t know or grasp the meaning of such sacrifice and annihilation. He only glorifies his muse if he himself is glorified, and he only loves her if he is loved. The narcissist has himself as a condition; the poet is open in a true and heartfelt giving that does not calculate.

          I don’t know if I adequately answered your query or have grasped your comment in the light of my own comment and post.

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