A deep breath; a sigh.. as if <br />you didn’t accuse yourself of this <br />every time you write a poem and <br />hoping to pretend it’s ‘ stretching <br />the boundaries of poetry’ etc. <br />- and whether it’s subsequently <br />well received or not.. <br /> <br />and you reply, with a slightly shaky patience, <br />‘Well, you define poetry, and <br />I’ll give you then an answer…’ <br /> <br />* * <br /> <br />It begins with some small explosion <br />(no casualties) in consciousness <br />(the Indians call it ‘sfota’) <br />or perhaps, it seems more like <br />some movement of the heart; <br />perhaps in delayed reaction to some event, <br />or perhaps out of that blessed ‘blue’… <br /> <br />and you swear undying faith and trust <br />in this wee mite, to guard it with your life; <br />it’s the thrill of a lifetime, but, <br />can you raise it as you should? <br /> <br />I won’t attempt to describe to those <br />who know this all so well, <br />the inner world through which you follow it – <br />sometimes it’s like some vast building <br />full of dusty libraries, committee rooms <br />some a hubbub of argument, <br />some somnolent; then <br />you open a door and find yourself <br />in court, and in the dock - and also witness box… <br /> <br />how ludicrous this must sound <br />to those who’ve never written ‘poetry’... <br />our whole life, hanging onto every word…<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sorry-but-what-you-write-isn-t-poetry/
