It has been over ten years since I composed my first poem. The original composition, now lying somewhere on my closet floor, along with just about everything I have ever written; original drafts, stories, and philosophy. I can’t recall any of the lines, I don’t know how long it was, if I were to walk into my closet and determinedly attempt to find it, my eyes would not recognize the words. But I do remember writing it, and most importantly, I remember what it was about; love, a concept and feeling that recently had new meaning for a young naïve sophomore in high school who was trying to get over his first girlfriend, his first love. I remember the feeling of helplessness in trying to convey to myself, and understand everything I was experiencing and feeling; how to make sense of an experience that was so unfamiliar, brutal, and powerful.

And just as in any art, it was feeling that drove me to express, and moved me to create. This was art as a kind of frustration that arises in trying to understand the world; It is imagination for the heart. A way to be free; free from one’s self, where one can express what they do not think people will understand (though we want them to try), where one can be genuine about something that they cannot bear to admit; a way to relieve one’s self of the pressures that have built up inside  because of the fears one has about who one really is; a way to make sense of life. It is poetry that attempts such things and succeeds as well as any art form. These are the feelings I remember when I recall myself frantically writing down the lines as they shot out of me; trying to compose them with some sense of order; trying to give them life.

Poetry, more than any other art form, is abstract by the very nature of its composition. Other forms of writing, such as literature or philosophy, begin with having something to teach. It was Ayn Rand who said in her guide to writing fiction that one must work out the theme, moral, conflict, and resolution before one can write the story. This is a testament to literature as an attempt to convey a message, to expound on “reality,” but it also serves to highlight a distinction between such forms of writing and poetry itself, for poetry has little to teach because there is little the writer knows. The poet has a swelling of feeling, an experience of great emotional magnitude. Poets then stand in awe of such feeling, exploring the deepest levels of sensation, while probing the depths of a new kind of world that has opened up to them. These are feelings that don’t make sense, that destroy logic, and leave one speechless. Yet one feel’s they must do something; one must act, and through one’s resolve, one reconciles themselves to an activity that becomes the very definition of abstraction.

In carrying this task out, poets treat language in ways that greatly differ from other styles of writing. Language for poets has little to do with using words as markers or symbols for actual things. Obviously, a poet will use words like, ‘sun’ or ‘sky,’ but in mentioning and describing such things words are used, not as representatives, but as doors; words are used by poets to convey, not a world of things, but to dismantle ‘thing-hood.’ Words are used to critique language, not to diminish the power of it, but to show that language is powerful precisely because it is without form. That is, poetry critiques language in order to undermine language, not to demonstrate it as a triviality, but to show that language is powerful precisely because it can be undermined.

Words hold a power that goes over and above their ability to be useful as designators or categorizers. Words carry the emotions that people invest them with. When a poet creates a piece, he or she relies on elements of sound, syllable, and timing in ways that bring out the “hidden” or disguised elements of feeling. Because poetry makes use of elements apart from language as a marker it tears down the wall of impressions built upon bare observation. The consequence is that basic perception gives way to pure imaginings, where the later holds the power, or in fact, asks of the reader to reflect on the world in a way that removes any barrier between it and the person who is reading.

In everyday life, language is often used to disguise thought or feeling. It is odd to talk of language as having the capacity to fundamentalize and imprison human thought, while at the same time, holding the power to open one up to a world of experience-possibility. None the less, it is true. It can become all too typical for one to use words such as ‘love’ ‘freedom’ ‘justice’ ‘good’ and ‘evil.’ Words such as these can become so common, not because people understand them, but because they have left them perplexed. Such words, however, only represent shortcuts at times; cheat sheets into a comfortable world where trains of thought come to a halt. They represent the contentment of perpetual procrastination; they represent things one thinks they understand but fails to explain; the failure to expound upon something and how it affects a given person. So one says ‘love,’ ‘freedom,’ ‘equality,’ etc. and feigns comprehension. It is poetry that reacts against such procrastination through its deep application of language. It is never content with leaving words transfixed. Thus the ability of language to express and expand upon the wonders associated with existence is preserved.

It was the feeling of tapping into a new kind of existence that I surrendered to when I first fell in love; that in-turn became the catalyst for writing my first poem. It was feeling that I wanted to understand; that had left me mystified, and it is what continually inspires me to write poetry.