“Is it not possible still to hold that poetry is power communicated by words in verse, and prose is power communicated by words not in verse?”*
And what then may be said of Poetry’s sister energy, Music?
That it’s the communication of power is undeniable; but through what medium?
Sound? Notes? That’s too simplistic.
To define music as merely notes organized to your liking is to equally define poetry as letters so selfishly arranged.
This simply will not do.
Sound then, which leads to vibrations, over-tones, harmonies…
And yet we still do no more than describe the symptoms; the physical attributes.
To describe Susan’s hair doesn’t mean we now know what Susan is.
We still have yet to communicate the essence of music.
Of course not, you may say.
If we could describe it, we wouldn’t need it.
If words were capable of communicating what we’re feeling, we wouldn’t have music.
To which I would reply: then why do you still write poetry?
The problem is our wielding of the tools of poetry (and music and clay and light) without truly understanding what it is we employ.
What is a ‘note’? What is ‘clay’, or ‘light’?
How can we communicate the unknowable, if we don’t understand the ‘tools’ we use?
Do not sit there and tell me that light is merely energy; created by the stars and sent hurtling out into space. This tells me nothing, when the goal is to depict the dancing, maddening light as it reflects off of the water in the painting before you.
How did the artist do that? What was light to him or her? What were they willing to sacrifice, for that rare ability of allowing us, for one brief moment in time, to see water as they see it?
If that ability doesn’t give you pause… if that work of art before you doesn’t fill you with awe, and fear, then you’ve yet to truly see it.
It is a fear to be wished for, to be sought after with every fibre of our being.
It is the embodiment of power, and the communication of that power itself, all at the same time. It is Power.
Power that doesn’t care if we understand it, or not.
And yet, Man has always feared what he doesn’t understand…
Now do you see why so much of what you create is unsatisfactory?
To use the clay of the earth in order to fashion mud pies (because that’s ‘what the people want’) when the David is awaiting its own life in your subconscious, is to wholly misappropriate your creative energies.
If you would speak to us of power – through whatever medium – if you would spend the very life’s blood of your body to show us something we never imagined could exist before, it might profit you to examine your own fears… to understand the tools we all so carelessly use…
* Reason and Beauty in the Poetic Mind, by Charles Williams