Author: Carolina Fernandez

Sometimes, whilst participating in casual conversation, a friend will unthinkingly utter some beautiful words. Sometimes I miss the words, too caught up in my own thoughts and my future input to appreciate the unrecognized wisdom, but other times, I am able to recognize them and be amazed by them. They are probably not as beautiful out of context, but I use the lines I find in casual conversation as inspiration for my poetry often. I place them as titles, hoping that my poem will mimic the moment and the idea that was being discussed.

A friend of mine told me that cliches are  cliches because they’re probably true, and that the wisdom behind cliches is not often acknowledged, rather it is ignored, tossed to the side because of how casually and thoughtlessly cliches are used.  He implied that the only reason a cliche survives is because it pairs relativity and truth seamlessly. He changed my perspective on cliches. In the past, I’d never think to dissect them. I’d think that they were only what they appeared on the surface, the words were direct and didn’t need to be explained.

I’m not sure what this post is about. For some reason, my mind is telling me that these two specific thoughts have some correlation. Maybe, it has to do with the latest poem I submitted to workshop. But I think mostly, it has to do with how we look at life and poetry…Are we taking the time to look past the surface? Are we, can we, appreciate the wisdom and beauty that surrounds us every minute? I mean, if we aren’t, and we’re poets, then who is? But anyway, the more I get to know cliches the more I learn to love them, and I’m finding more and more titles in casual conversation. Tonight’s title was: “Let’s talk about the weather.”

A friend of mine shared this video with me recently and it hit home for me. I am one of the people she is referring to when she speaks of those who are unable to act on creativity for fear that it won’t be accepted or that it has already been done before. I find myself with new ideas on a daily basis, or new to me anyhow. That’s all that matters says Gilbert. That the ideas are new to YOU. She’s right. I just never really thought about it that way. I’m sure earlier in the year we had a discussion about what original content is and “is anything really original if everything you ever learn is recycled?” Alas, I have received some release over this looming anxiety.  It isn’t original in the sense that it has never been said or learned or thought of before, but it is original in that your exact composition of recycled ideas is very different from someone else’s recycled ideas.  This means that every unoriginal thought or idea could be communicated in millions of different ways, ways that resonate with different audiences. SO, I guess this means everyone is capable of original and creative thought. Or that everything you recycle has potential to be your own. I suppose the success of a work could be waged against how many people it resonates with- this kind of success suggests that you understand people so well that you are able to communicate your ideas in such a way that mostly everyone understands them, except you are still keeping your own perspective and method/voice. Then, there is the success  in works that fail to resonate with anyone because they are so amazingly individualistic and subjective that no one else could possibly understand them because the way of communication is so brand new that nobody has figured out how to understand. I guess this could be used to explain why so many famous people are only famous in death :).

There was something else discussed in this video and it had to do with how to write a book or a work, and in summary, Gilbert just said that you have to get over how much you suck and you have to love writing so much that you don’t care how much torture it is, or you have to be willing to put up with torture for the rest of your life, which is the case for any passion you may take up. Only call it a passion if you are passionate about its ugly sides too not just about how many great things it does or will do for you.

Generally, I learned that I gotta take all my creative ideas and similar to a baseball player, bat all of them out into the field and hope I hit a home run. And if none of them are home runs, at least I played baseball my whole life because I loved it, and if I bat them all, then I won’t worry that some of them were  meant to be home runs. Or maybe I hit a home run, and magically, the whole world misses it, and then that’d be too bad, but I’ll know I hit it and I’ll die a champ in my eyes :). Watch this!

I visited my parents over the weekend. They are the conservative kind of parents who have let me roam in hopes that I will see the light and return to their way of life. I doubt that’ll ever happen though. I feel as though I have roamed far enough to know I prefer a happy middle between modern and traditional ideals.  Whenever I go home my visits with my mother go somewhat like this: “How’s school?” “Great, you know just classes and work and stuff.” “Still an English major?” “Yup.” “Well, that can change you know, you can always pursue business or politics in the future.” “Please respect me and my decisions, thank you.” “I understand, sorry.”

I encountered a distant relative at my father’s house and he had no idea what my studies were. When I told him I study Creative Writing he said, “What, are you going to write letters and make money? Hahahaha.” He was very condescending about the whole thing. I kind of smiled and laughed and twiddled my thumbs so as not to seem rude. I was trying to see the world from his perspective and trying to be understanding of how much he does not understand my choices.

I didn’t want to tell him that I feel more ready for the world than I’d ever be if I was any other major, and I wanted to tell him that I didn’t care about the money because I wouldn’t trade the knowledge and experience I’ve gained for the world. I feel sometimes that being a poet allows me to know the secrets of the world, those that no one else but poets have access to. And sometimes I feel that we are all part of some huge cult because we can see the world in the same, but different way. I think other artists have this same feeling towards one another, but I think I like that my art is poetry and that though people claim that it is dying, this has always been the case; I want to think the opposite though, I want to think that poetry is surviving and spreading. Whether people know it or not, doesn’t matter to me much, but I can see it in the way so many people want to be “artsy” and don’t know how.

All in all, I just wanted to tell all of you who get this bullshit from your relatives that it’s okay, it happens to me too. But I know that they’re wrong because they know nothing more than I do about how to live a happy life, I think we are all just learning as we go and I think that poetry teaches us how to learn forever without teachers.

I want to agree with Amiri Baraka, hug him and kiss him and say YES! That’s EXACTLY WHAT POETRY IS. And then I want to talk to him about how dumb people who think poetry should be anything else are. I want to say I am right, this is the way. My heart does little pauses whenever I think about doing this though. Not out of excitement but out of the vague guilt that says, “You’re wrong Carolina. Poetry is so much more than just you.”

Whatever I think I am is relative to everyone else. I am everyone I have ever met and all the thoughts that have been shared with me. In that way, it can’t really be my poetry, as I am only recycling thoughts and ideas. I feel so defensive of my poetry though, as you all witnessed in class when I told Meghan I didn’t care (I’m sorry!). Why is that? I feel like it’s me there on the page, trying to show you my insides. And then when people don’t understand it I just want to say, well, so what? You don’t HAVE TO understand. I’m misunderstood, that’s the point, duh.

But, it’s not something to which we should say so what, even if we want to (my mistake). It does matter. Poetry is one of the only methods that two people can truly understand each other and if we are thinking only of who we are and not about who everyone else is, then how will we achieve the goals we wish to? How will we master this art. I guess we should find a balance. Sacrifice some of the qualities we feel are exclusive to ourselves so that we can successfully speak to somebody else in their language.

 

 

Confused? So am I. Actually, I think I have been living in a confused state since I turned twenty, with slight moments of enlightenment/clarification. Hopefully it’s a phase.

Poetry is an art. You see something, you write about it and then you edit profusely until it communicates what you want it to or just something that’s hopefully relative to what inspired you to write the poem. Some would say that the artistic part of this is the finalized product.  After blood, sweat and tears, you finally know that your poem is finished, that it’s saying what you mean it to and that people will be moved by your words. That is the art. The act of moving others, of inspiring and of mastering.

Others would say that the art in anything is the act of creation. In poetry, this would be the blood, sweat and tears, second guessing, constant re-writing, seeking advice, days, months of obsession over a small word which may or may not be useful.

And then there is the question of, is the art both of these things? Is the art in poetry made whole by the product and the process? And then is an unedited poem incomplete? Or a poem which does not move or inspire anything?

I ask these questions because as I thought about what I wanted to do or what I seemed to be lacking in my poems, I realized that what I wanted to mess around with was fancier word usage. I want to have adjectives which are more focused and exclusive not because I think these words are important or because I think that my point will be communicated any more effectively than it would be with simpler language but because it looks pretty and sounds pretty. That is the root of my desire. If we’re being honest, it’s shallow.  Would it make me less of a poet if I did this? Where do we draw the line in art? Do we, should we?

If a poem dedicates itself to nothing but the use of pretty words, if it has no meaning, no moral, no intent to inspire or to tell a story, is it still a poem? Moreover, if I put together a poem without wanting to inspire and without editing, is it still art?

Can a poem be void of purpose?

Just some things that have been on my mind.

I didn’t have the book for this week, luckily there’s a website that has most of the poems from the book. Upon browsing this selection of poems I decided the 5 O’Clock Poem by Jennifer K. Sweeney is one of the poems which is most attractive to me. I don’t want to say favorite, because lately I’ve been questioning much about what it means to like or favorite something, and the reasons behind why I like some things vs. others. I use the word attractive because after reading multiple poems once, this poem is quite literally the one that I was attracted to without any analysis or reflection. The truth is I don’t know why I like this specific poem. Is it because it’s easier for me to comprehend than other poems? Because this specific poet appeals to my style of understanding and writing than others? Or is it because she used specific strategies to get me to like her poetry?  There are some vague ideas I have about why I like it. The language is simple, there is an abstract idea about going against “the current”, eventually giving up and giving into “the current”, which I relate to and which I have been struggling with as of late. And then there’s the language and the imagery of walking down a street, gray and bent; getting on a train; a salmon in a shallow stream.  But there’s much more to this appeal which I’m not aware of. I’m sure this appeal has to do with composition, sound, organization, the break in lines and the choosing of words– the poem is beautiful because the poet made it so. I’m thinking now that maybe all these thoughts are good thoughts to enter this workshop with, considering that maybe by the end of it I’ll be able to know more about certain poems appeal to me and in certain respects,  know more about my likes and dislikes and where they come from.