How blogging has changed me! Well not me exactly, but how I write and so on. Before I took up blogging seriously I used to write poems every day and never show them to anyone, because in normal life, where I live, who I live amongst, poetry is practically despised or laughed at, or/and not seen as a real form of communication. How can you put your feelings/thoughts into poems and yet get passed by, by those close. A shorthand typist is taken more seriously than a poet/poem.
Am I a poet, I believe so, I have been writing since I was about 18 or 19 years old. It’s not about the “high falutin’ “ English degree type who seems to write to prove something but a need to communicate a little bit more, a dissatisfaction with everyday communication, a lacking in it – that poetry fills out more, despite any sort of education you may have.
Blogging has been changing how I write poetry. Illustration seems to becoming important. Poem/picture is being explored. Now I might draw a picture and write something to it because it just works well I suppose. But Covid pandemic has been like putting the cart before the horse. I feel like I am dragging a cart full of poetry along, that no one is bothered about and dangerously, because it’s about me, in-the-world/on-the-earth, it is ultimately myself that no one is bothered about.
So that brings me to comments its odd that I put so much into poetry and yet get so few comments about any of it yet paradoxically I do seem to have some success with a steady increase in followers.
So here is how blogging is changing me. I am struggling to understand how my poetry is read with a kind of detachment by the reader. And the content is little commented on. So, here is a problem…
(maybe not just with my way of doing things but poetry in general. It’s a teenager thing or is it a minor entertainment thing. But, it is, I say, a communication, it is for everyone to join in and use, it’s real, from the person in love to the person thinking of death, from the person writing about the environment to the person writing about God, how much more real can you get).
Looking at other people’s poetry I am probably doing the same thing as I complain about. We’ve lost something I think in our communication with each other, the ability to humble ourselves and take what they say seriously, we would rather put on a face and gloss their words of pain, happiness, etc over when we find it; we just don’t ask each other why?