Plain Talk and Poetry

I don’t know who Larson Langston is but was mightily impressed by a piece he shared on Facebook. Since I make no money from these posts and all publicity is good publicity for authors, I hope he will be happy that I’m sharing some of it here or at least forgive me for not going through the tedious task of finding out how to contact him for permission. 

 

It is a beautiful example of the power of language to transform, uplift, bring our common shared experiences into the light and gild them with the chosen words that make them more powerful and meaningful. Indeed, this is a good summary of all artists’ unspoken Mission Statement. The musicians who take the random sounds without and within us and gather them into a beautiful coherence, the dancers who shape our constantly moving bodies into something eloquent and graceful, the artists who draw from the shapes and colors surrounding us and paint them into a visual statement with an edge to the canvas. 

 

For example, yesterday, instead of simply shouting “Aaargh! I hate filling out online forms!” I might have said, “I navigate through the stormy waters of your poorly mapped cyber-chart and am thrown to the deck with the bitter salt of the pounding waves crashing on my tender body." That would have helped me transform mere frustration to a noble failed task. And hopefully would have been more interesting for you to read. 

 

Art does not invent feelings, emotions, ideas, visions that are unique to the audience but reflects what we all feel but don’t have the time, talent or intention to express articulately. When we fail to express them, we are at the mercy of the sorrows, frustrations, disappointments, outrages and likewise often don’t fully experience the joys, beauties and blessings. When we attempt to work with them through words, musical sounds, visual images, movements and such, we engage in a relationship that brings them—and us— more fully to life. 

 

So here’s some wonderful examples from Larson Langston as to how this feels.

 

In English, we say: “I miss you.”

 But in poetry, we say:

“I trace the shape of your absence in the spaces where your laughter used to linger, and let the echoes of you fill the hollow hours.”

 

In English, we say: “I don’t know how to let go.”

 But in poetry, we say:

“I carry you in my chest like a stone—

heavy, unyielding, and carved with the sharp edges of what once was.”

 

In English, we say: “I feel lost.”

But in poetry, we say:

“The compass of my heart spins wildly now,

its needle drawn to places it can no longer call home.”

 

In English, we say: “I wish it were different.”

But in poetry, we say:

“I water the garden of could-have-beens with tears,

waiting for flowers that refuse to bloom.” …

 

In English, we say: “You hurt me.”

But in poetry, we say:

“You planted thorns in my chest with hands I once trusted,

and now every breath feels like an apology I shouldn’t owe.”

 

In English, we say: “I wanted to stay.”

But in poetry, we say:

“I lingered at the edge of your world,

a star burning quietly, unnoticed in your vast, indifferent sky.”

 

In English, we say: “I’m trying to move on.”

But in poetry, we say:

“I untangle your name from my veins each morning,

only to find it woven into my dreams again at night.”

 

In English, we say: “I’ll be okay.”

But in poetry, we say:

“I gather the shattered pieces of myself like broken glass,

knowing someday, even scars can catch the light.”