Writing Matters

Coming and Going With Poetry

 

By Phillip Shabazz

Sometimes people ask me, why do you write poetry?  And why does it matter? My answer usually is I write poems for a number of reasons. It’s fun; it’s fulfilling; and it’s meaningful. Poetry matters because it allows me to express myself, to celebrate life, and to answer a call that draws me to engage in the art. But that’s only part of the reason why I write poetry. When I really look at it, like all art in general, poetry matters to me not only in obvious and sensible ways, but also in subtle and creative ways. Through wonderment and joy, I write poetry because it lets me bear witness to my own life, as well as to the life of others.

What Poetry Does

Since the days of my youth, I’ve heard poetry at home and at school, poetry at house parties, open-mike, and at protest rallies in the street.

“I see the art of poetry…” as the poet Etheridge Knight says,

“…as The Poet, The Poem, and The People.”

From this notion, I see that poetry allows me the freedom to speak, to be heard, to express myself through images, rhythm, and words, including both common experiences, and those that live deep within me.

Where Poetry Begins

Some people say poets are born, like painters and singers. They say that it’s naturally given, not taught, and not earned.  I disagree agree with that. You can be given all the poetic talent in the world and still not have the heart for it. Natural talent is not enough.  Becoming a poet means you have the heart for poetry. 

When I sit down to write a poem, I don’t let things on the outside influence me. First and foremost, I take hold of a poem from my own gut feelings, thoughts, and ideas. A given poem is already in me and, connected to my life: what I did, what I saw, what happened to me along the way.

As a child, I used to hear the elders say, “Remember where you come from.”  Those words have always stuck, and I am reminded that poetry begins at the heart of where I come from, personal experience, and not only is it connected to my past, but also to my present—thus the circle of life.

Why the Heart?

One of the most important parts of the human body is the heart, which ancient Egyptians believed recorded all of the good and bad deeds of a person’s life. They weighed the heart against a feather, and if the heart was lighter than the feather, they believed the person was worthy to live (in the afterlife) forever in paradise. 

The heart is believed to be the source of wisdom, as well as emotion, memory, personality, and the soul itself. The heart speaks to all parts of the body, according to the ancient Egyptians. Likewise, poetry speaks to me in the same way.  It speaks in many tongues, many responses, and many styles. It communicates through all languages: my own as well, I’ve come to enjoy its many voices in stories, hip hop, spoken word, and song lyrics. In that way, poetry continues to contribute to the deepest part of my own life experience.

How It Happens

My endeavor with poetry starts with internal music. It does not start with a workshop, a textbook, lesson plan, instruction, or school-of-thought, but comes straight from the rhythm of my own being: blood and muscle, heartbeat and nerve. I find that my own music begins with an impulse that’s deep within me and not brought out yet. Not until I get a feel for it. Not until it’s like holding something in my hand. In that moment, images start to emerge. Sight merges with sound. From there, a poem comes into being little by little. With nurturing and patience, it becomes whole.

The Use of Sensory Language

There are times, like at sunrise and sunset and other times at night—all my senses seem to come alive. Have you ever watched the sun rise at the beach? Could there be anything more awesome than a sunset, if you really take it in? A poem is like the sun in its various phases and images of light.

I love to sit down and write during those moments when my senses are fully alive. I don’t worry about the stack of bills on the table. I go straight to the computer and see what the images are trying to say. Here’s what I mean:

The sun, for example, is “yellow, and very bright,” appeals to the sense of sight.

“The beach breeze, soft and cool,” appeals to the sense of touch.

An orange is “sweet and juicy” appeals to the sense of taste.

“The piercing wail of Jimi Hendrix’ electric guitar,” appeals to the sense of sound.

“Rose incense smoke in the air,” appeals to the sense of smell.

The five senses are phenomenal. Each sense conjures up an image and experience from my own life. When it comes to the use of sensory language, poetry is particularly full with it. For that reason, I naturally use the senses to create images in my poems.  Image making in poetry means to ‘show and tell’.  That way, a given poem can be enjoyed more intensely.

Poetry’s Got Some Dance in It

Whenever I feel the world is becoming too much of a headache, I clear the air with my favorite songs.  The beat, the music, the lyric always gives me a sense of joy, and moves my feet.  I can feel it in my bones; it jumps like a live band. I can feel it flowing with beats, sounds, and words, as if all of it belongs to me: down home, at the root, in the body, in the rush of adrenaline that runs through my heart.

In the same way, poetry is rich with rhythm. In fact, back in the days before free verse became popular, poetry came straight out of a strict rhythm and rhyme tradition, and this famous line from the great Jazz composer Duke Ellington says it all:

“It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing.”

Now that’s definitive and unforgettable. To boot, poetry emphasizes rhythm and a sense of music more so than any other form of writing. Rhythm is in everything: the way you talk, the way you walk, the way you play.  It’s all there.  So rhythm, and a good dose of music, gives poetry energy, dance, flavor, meaning, beauty, romance, and style. 

When I Take a Ride with Poetry

During the summer, mostly in the morning, sometimes I get in my car and just drive. No plans. I go wherever the road takes me. Enjoying and writing poetry is a lot like going on a solo journey. And since I like to travel, I’m always open to the experience.

Out there, the road goes on and on like a story I try to follow. I keep turning the pages, and I don’t worry about where I’ll end up or if all of a sudden the pages turn blank. Out there, I let the road lead the way. Why not? The possibilities of the journey are great. Some of the best travel is in going to a place you’ve never been. This is how it goes when I take a ride with poetry, when I read it, and when I write it.  Along the way, I discover something new that shines all at once with wonder and awe, some new meaning about life; that’s how the travel, the journey with poetry pays off; and I get a sense of fulfillment that is so crazy remarkable that nothing else is quite like it.