If you have never denied your want,
how do you know how hunger feels?
If you have never given up,
how do you learn to receive?
If you have never sat with emptiness,
out of what do you fashion your hope?
These are just a few of the beautifully constructed and thought-provoking questions that comprise a poem called Passing Time in Lent composed by writer, editor, art collector, small business owner Maureen Doallas and available to be read (and savored) in full on her blog Writing Without Paper.
While I appreciate Maureen’s words and the images they conjure, I have to admit that poetry challenges me.
Like oysters or goose liver pate, I find the notion of poetry more compelling than the poetry itself. Lapping up verses like an awkward Labrador puppy, my immature palate is easily frustrated by the search for an elusive hook or theme that may or may not exist in words that are meant to be enjoyed for their melody as much as their content.
Of course I prefer to blame poetry for the disconnect. Better to insult the form than to explore a possible shortcoming in my approa
ch it.
ch it.
(Un)fortunately, poetry has been haunting me lately. Poking its head around online corners and whispering my name with the voices of new acquaintances and old friends. My 19 year old daughter Kelsey, a prolific singer, songwriter and lyricist dared me to consider the poet within (and how my unintentional creative legalism might be stifling her) when when she posted a status update on my Facebook wall last week.
“Your facebook is way too grammatically correct,” she wrote. “Live a little. Write in fragments.”
Think in questions.
Write in fragments.
Live a little.
Looking forward to seeing where this is taking me. Would love to hear your thoughts…
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