A Poem Knows More Than It Says Poem by Sean Joyce

Writing poetry is hard.
Where do you start, where do you finish, and why do we try.

Why would you want to write a bunch of words about a feeling.
A feeling you sort of had for a moment or two a few minutes ago.

Why would you:
long for; pray for;
cry for, crave for,
beg, borrow, plagiarise or steal for,

a set of the words that put together properly
might, just might convey to another person
some smattering of what it was like to be you
at a particular moment in time?

But it happens.
It happens again and again.
It happens when for a moment or two
the words you are hearing recreate in your head
the whole consciousness of another person's mind

And for those few moments you are one with that writer.
For a small space of time you are mind melded with
another human being and you know what it is to not be alone,

Poems are created underneath the bar.
Down in the half translated meta language of the the soul.

A poem knows more than it says.
It knows more than the writer knows
It knows more than its reader learns.

Writing poetry is like holding a séance.
It takes time to work into the mood
it takes time to mask out the distractions
It takes time to listen to your, your what?
Your heart perhaps with your mind caught up in all those
mundane issues, awash with the jingle jangle
big din din brick-a-brack everyday life.

The all-pervading noise of radios and aeroplanes,
barking dogs and delivery vans endlessly reversing.

Then there is the risk of writing nice poems.
Nice poems about nice people who say nice things about other nice people
While on the Gaza strip 2000 people and 400 children fry and die in each others arms and that's not nice.

Poetry is about honesty,
and it matters.
It matters because there is nowhere else,
Nowhere in the world that is dedicated totally
and can only be judged by -, its honesty quotient.

If it’s honest and it reads well then it is a poem.
If the engineering bits are well managed it may be a good poem.
If it conveys just one helpful human thought it may be a great poem.
And when you read it you can hear,
clear and true,
the reverberating ring of a solid object.

In the end a poem is an act of love
An encouraging word from one true heart to another.
A word that might say - ‘YES, you have a right to be here’,
'well done', or a word that says:

Look up and smile
the sun in the sky
has just taken your photograph.