April is national poetry month. The concept of a month for poetry seems almost silly to me.Stop All The Clocks paper tree

Well. I would imagine it would be silly to Plath, Browning, Longfellow and maybe even Frost.

Poetry is not a month. It is of a moment.

Time is, and always has been, the judge of poetry.

Time will sift the good stuff from the bad. Time will sift so you & I don’t have to.

You have to believe this … because in the here and now?

Writing poetry guarantees a poet one thing in Life … death by neglect.

But I believe poets write to insure feelings do not get neglected. They do one thing in Life … keep feelings alive.

Maybe better said … bring moments in Life alive.

Moments that only exist in the intangible … what you feel.

 

“The poet begins where the man ends.

The man’s lot is to live his human life,

the poet’s to invent what is nonexistent.” ― José Ortega y Gasset

 

Wystan Hugh Auden <W.H. Auden> pointed out that poetry is a way of happening.

Poetry brings out the moment within the Life moments.

But it is when I think of Auden I always remember the words … stop all the clocks … <most people will remember it from 4 Weddings & a Funeral>.

 

stop all the clocks typedStop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

 

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public
doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

 

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

 

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

 

—–

note: Like many of Auden’s works it is most recognized by the first line “Stop All the Clocks”. It is actually called “Funeral Blues” and is the first poem in a duo titled “Two Songs for Hedli Anderson.  It was first published in its final, familiar form in 1938, but based on an earlier version published in 1936.

 

Well.

I imagine writing poetry is not for the faint of heart or the thin of skin.

But I also imagine that a true poet seeks not a month for recognizing poetry but rather seeks to share a moment that makes someone feel something … if but for a moment.

I write <bad amateurish> poetry.

Regardless … I, just as any poet , amateur or published, probably hopes that some words we dare to put on paper stops all the clocks if but for a moment.

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Written by Bruce