Poem Body
I was once in thrall to the infamous myth
Of the suffering artist,
But I’ve come ultimately to see it
As the cruelest of delusions.
But could it not be said
That it’s still among us,
That malevolent notion
That the artist is a spirit set apart
For some special purpose,
Of which pain is an essential component?
Comments
Thanks, Teddy!
I always so love your responses to my verses, and yes you are right, that is especially true of the kind of poetry or verse that is torn straight from the soul as it were, Bye for now. Carl.
The Infamous Myth
Hello, Carl,
I would agree that the artistic spirit is set apart, not only in pain and suffering, but in joy, too. Art, music, poetry are the essence of our thoughts and feelings, and possibly not fully understood by anyone else until they have similar experiences. Then there is that 'aha' moment. I know for me I go through periods when I need to break away from reading and writing poetry - to come up for air, get myself out of my head and simplify my life. Your poem (as usual with most poetry) made me think. :)
Thank you,
Lavender
I am glad, Lavender...
....that my work made you think, that is an honour truly, thank you; and I see what you mean, there is a kinship between creators, and much of that stems from shared pain. But as you suggest, it doesn't have to be that way, and essentially, there is, or should be, joy in creation. Sadly all too often, in fact more often than not, this is not the case. Carl.