On National Poetry Day, I muse . . .

Why must I be powerfully moved to write verse? Do real poets share my problem?

The deep greens of the forest (above) and cerulean blues of lake and sky (below) that colour the northern reaches of my beautiful Canadian province are, for me, endless sources of awe.

As well as sources of not fabulous poetry. But I love writing about this place. It also features strongly in my novels. So yes, obsessed.

Besides my musings about the beauty of the natural world, I cannot write a word of poetry unless I am feeling furious, grief-stricken, aroused or otherwise overwhelmingly passionate about something.

Otherwise, my calls to Calliope and Erato go unheard.

Example: When Russia invaded Ukraine, in part, perhaps, because I have some Ukrainian heritage, I was beside myself. A few weeks later, this emerged from my fury.

Darkest Hour

The tank’s gun shrieked as it rose

Silhouetted briefly against a snow sky

Before the peace exploded.

I fell to my knees and screamed.

When I woke, I took a shuddering breath

And smiled in relief

Until I remembered

I had been in

Another woman’s nightmare

And hers did not end

At the dawn.

******

Do other poets feel this way? I wonder this often. Yet if you are dominantly a poet, I expect you must plumb your depths more regularly than I do, and find the strength to force the words to the front of the mind and henceforth to the page. A volume of work is no mean feat.

I consider publishing my poems, occasionally. The thought terrifies me. My soul quivers within me. Talk about feeling exposed. And so, I admire the published poets among us not just for their words and dedication, but for their courage.

I have friends who are published poets. They rather boggle my brain. How do they produce so much work?

Here is Norb Aikin, author of the poetry book World by Design, with “The First Lie.”

And here is Lily Lawson (you can find her on Substack), who has published five books of poetry including three in her Rainbow series. “After William” comes from Rainbow’s Red Book of Poetry.

They have published books of poetry. Entire COLLECTIONS.

Thank you to both Norb and Lily for allowing me to publish your work. You are very dear. (Copyright applies.) Happy National Poetry Day.

Today, I also think of my favourite famous poets and what their words have meant to me. William Butler Yeats (The Second Coming!) is perhaps at the top of the list; but also Langston Hughes, Maya Angelou, Brian Bilston, William Shakespeare, T.S. Eliot, Percy Bysshe Shelley . . . such a long list of geniuses.

Poets reflect us to ourselves, the good, bad and indifferent, individually and collectively, in succinct and glorious form. I could not do without them.

I must also thank Robert Frost for the words below. They speak to mine own problem of being unable to produce anything unless in a heightened emotional state, while also providing among the best descriptions of the art form.

I leave the final thought to him.

Thank you, BrainyQuote.