Steve GannPoetry is the Voice of Passion
November 29th 2006 12:47
Poetry - The Siren Call
Poetry is the voice of passion and we are losing our ability to experience it. We are losing our ability to appreciate it, to love it -- to let it lift us up and take us to the extremes of our existence. I am a poet by happenstance. I have been putting it down now for over thirty years. The thing is though as a child and then later in the bloom of my youth I kept colliding with poetry -- not mine, other peoples. And my life was richer for it. If there is one thing I miss in this changing world of ours, it is our ability to reach out and communicate. We are afraid to show our feelings. We no longer feel the drain of being compassionate. We are too bound up in containing our energy, making safe choices and following the latest trends in this age of instant gratification. I don't like it. So what we do to change it?
Now before anyone brands this as another serial cant based on nostalgia, it ain't so. I believe in the now. So let's do something for those who are part of our every day lives. Let's make the future something to look forward to. "OK", you may ask, "So what do we do wise guy? Where lies the answer to achieving this Shangri La?" That is the question isn't it? Well for a start maybe we should look for the answers in ourselves rather than in other people. If we were willing to accept others, more willing to look smilingly on difference in the beliefs of others; if we were more willing to look at acceptance and compassion as our first response, maybe that would help.
So where does Poetry figure in all this? Poetry is not the only answer, but it is a good tool of communication. It enables us to scratch when we were not even aware that there was an itch. It enables us to stretch emotional muscles that are beginning to atrophy from lack of use. More importantly though, it allows us to share experience in a way that plumbs to our deepest, hidden depths -- those secret parts that we are often too busy to explore. Poetry allows us to pause for a moment and realise that we are causing a hurt we hadn't intended. It gives us a choice to seek new directions and find new friends.
Is Poetry then the final answer? No. What it is though is a good tool for asking questions, for reaching out, for making an apology. I was fortunate in that the poets I grew up with had the opportunity to entertain, move me and give me a terrific laugh. I remember CJ Dennis "It was Ginger Mick (the cow) who started it all." I remember Lawson with The Loaded Dog and Send Around the Hat, neither of them poems but poetic in their way. I remember the Banjo and the Bush Christening and Clancy and the Man from Iron Bark. I remember tales of the Barcoo and Back of Burke, stories of the droving life and the fighting of flood and famine. Of heat and flies and drought. The funny thing is, I'm a city boy only spending about five minutes of my life in the country, but I was still caught in the myth bred from the reality that is country life.
But Poetry talks not only of the outside world. It talks to our souls. Poetry helps mend the wounds. Judith Wright and Kath Walker forged more than a friendship. They formed an understanding. This they expressed in their poetry. They knew they shared a legacy of hurt and betrayal, but they also believed that there was a path towards healing and acceptance. They shared this in the haunting, reaching out not just for each other, but for anyone who cared to pause and listen to the voices.
Unless we take the time and make the effort, there is the danger that we will lose sight of what we have, that we will become swallowed up by the appetites of everyday living. Poets are not gurus sitting on the side of the road offering pearls of wisdom. Poets are your brothers and sisters, sharing the journey, offering a moment of relaxation, giving a little of dreams of their past and present and their hopes for the future. Poetry is the bed where reason begins. It is that place where we go when tears are no longer enough. Poetry is both a healing balm and a goad to our existence. Poetry if the voice of passion and we should heed its call.
Poetry is the voice of passion and we are losing our ability to experience it. We are losing our ability to appreciate it, to love it -- to let it lift us up and take us to the extremes of our existence. I am a poet by happenstance. I have been putting it down now for over thirty years. The thing is though as a child and then later in the bloom of my youth I kept colliding with poetry -- not mine, other peoples. And my life was richer for it. If there is one thing I miss in this changing world of ours, it is our ability to reach out and communicate. We are afraid to show our feelings. We no longer feel the drain of being compassionate. We are too bound up in containing our energy, making safe choices and following the latest trends in this age of instant gratification. I don't like it. So what we do to change it?
Now before anyone brands this as another serial cant based on nostalgia, it ain't so. I believe in the now. So let's do something for those who are part of our every day lives. Let's make the future something to look forward to. "OK", you may ask, "So what do we do wise guy? Where lies the answer to achieving this Shangri La?" That is the question isn't it? Well for a start maybe we should look for the answers in ourselves rather than in other people. If we were willing to accept others, more willing to look smilingly on difference in the beliefs of others; if we were more willing to look at acceptance and compassion as our first response, maybe that would help.
So where does Poetry figure in all this? Poetry is not the only answer, but it is a good tool of communication. It enables us to scratch when we were not even aware that there was an itch. It enables us to stretch emotional muscles that are beginning to atrophy from lack of use. More importantly though, it allows us to share experience in a way that plumbs to our deepest, hidden depths -- those secret parts that we are often too busy to explore. Poetry allows us to pause for a moment and realise that we are causing a hurt we hadn't intended. It gives us a choice to seek new directions and find new friends.
Is Poetry then the final answer? No. What it is though is a good tool for asking questions, for reaching out, for making an apology. I was fortunate in that the poets I grew up with had the opportunity to entertain, move me and give me a terrific laugh. I remember CJ Dennis "It was Ginger Mick (the cow) who started it all." I remember Lawson with The Loaded Dog and Send Around the Hat, neither of them poems but poetic in their way. I remember the Banjo and the Bush Christening and Clancy and the Man from Iron Bark. I remember tales of the Barcoo and Back of Burke, stories of the droving life and the fighting of flood and famine. Of heat and flies and drought. The funny thing is, I'm a city boy only spending about five minutes of my life in the country, but I was still caught in the myth bred from the reality that is country life.
But Poetry talks not only of the outside world. It talks to our souls. Poetry helps mend the wounds. Judith Wright and Kath Walker forged more than a friendship. They formed an understanding. This they expressed in their poetry. They knew they shared a legacy of hurt and betrayal, but they also believed that there was a path towards healing and acceptance. They shared this in the haunting, reaching out not just for each other, but for anyone who cared to pause and listen to the voices.
Unless we take the time and make the effort, there is the danger that we will lose sight of what we have, that we will become swallowed up by the appetites of everyday living. Poets are not gurus sitting on the side of the road offering pearls of wisdom. Poets are your brothers and sisters, sharing the journey, offering a moment of relaxation, giving a little of dreams of their past and present and their hopes for the future. Poetry is the bed where reason begins. It is that place where we go when tears are no longer enough. Poetry is both a healing balm and a goad to our existence. Poetry if the voice of passion and we should heed its call.
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