Poetry

No, this isn’t a poetry entry.  Just some thoughts on the subject.

I went to a poetry reading the other day and they had two poets reading from some of their latest books.  I regularly attend readings by a local group called Inprint, which brings notable authors to Houston.

One poet struck a particular chord within me.  His poems dealt with his relationship with his father who had recently passed away.  His words so eloquently expressed his feelings as he dealt with his loss with a minimum of diction.  Yet even though he didn’t write down all that much the few words that he did write down beautifully expressed his sentiments and the feeling of the moment.

It has always amazed me how poets can work with words and weave them so intricately and so expertly and even though I work with the same media that they can make something so elegant and so concise whereas I feel that my writing is at best a ham-fisted approach to distill and convey a message to my readers.

Their approach, their technique, can be likened to a delicate ballet whilst mine is merely clumsy clog dancing.  I have to admit that I have always been envious of that but not jealous.  I know deep down inside that I am no poet.  While I can admire their craft and appreciate what they have written I know it’s not something that I could ever do.  So I don’t resent their talent and ability to express themselves so eloquently.

My talent, if indeed I do have any talent, lies in clumsily expressing myself in a more pedestrian and unremarkable prosaic style.  Presenting the facts, all the facts, before the reader and lending them my sense of the scene as I see and guiding them through the action.

Hopefully some day, something that I write will be found worth printing and I will be able to share this with a much wider audience.  It won’t be a pretty dance of words like that of these poets but exhibited but I hope that it will be worth reading.