PROFOUND
A STEP OF A POET IS AN ADDED LAND TO OUR EARTH
I cannot imagine that the poet is objective so far as his relationship with poetry. He is, premeditatedly, aligned.
The more the poet being objective, the more his project and his inner power to write a personal unique text became weaker. And vice versus! The more the poet flew in an inner horizon, which is different, illogical and unconfirmed, the more his ammunition became richer, and his forwardness pushed further.
From this stand, with strong emphasis and absolute subjective I believe that poetry is the only means which we face with, our conflicted existence and to go forward towards the infinitive horizons, which announce, with suspicious shameless our finite.
I believe that poetry never be unless it surrender its all social and expedience acts.
True poetry, throughout the history, was an escape from the implementations and of the ultimate goal with its conditional pressure. And as a result, it became obvious that the receivers of the poetry were to expect something, which is always not a poetry. Poetry is not, and never been, a social or material tools.
The only role of poetry, I believe in absolute egoistic manner, or rather with harsh act, is to enable us facing our existence seizure so to accept our limitations the way or the other and, as WB Yeats put it, to keep us ready to face something that never happened.
I believe it is impossible to write a poem about common subjects with a personal voice because of the interference of the antiquate inheritance and the coral throughout the poet tone.
For the poet, his poetry is only duty, I believe, is to deeply dive in his existence worries. Poetry is the only path that leads to the inner part of the poet, so much so to act as the elixir, which pushes me into eternity to awakening the blindness of nature. It is a try to catch “ NOW” which is equal to “Eternity”. It is the way towards the root of the existence to shape what has not been shaped.
The first thing which draws my attention in a poetry extract is the existence conflict of the poet into the horizon of his text to the extend that his existence keeps telling that he, the poet, is just about to let eternity fall in his snare.
Busy with personal relationship with the universe, I am.
To write “poetry “ about outside object was a thing I never exploit.
I write about the touching line between the universe and I. I write about my body any my senses journey.
Nothing exists and no “ outer world “ unless those are my own belongings and own atmosphere.
Nothing is nearer to the Man more than his body. Every individual has his unique existence worries so much so that no one shares or has the same.
I do not exact what may, or may not, concerned me. I involved in the matter.
My extracts are my secret Diary.
I “ spy’ on my body and its engagement with the universe when I write.
Writing is an intimate expletory through my body.
This is how I see the world, which is not so far from my observation of the world out side the writing.
Poetry is not an imitation of the “Outer” or explanatory job so what Nature has accomplished is not his concerned.
Poetry is another possibilities, in worlds full of desires which has never crossed the mind of “ reality”.
In poetry, I try to find my way out side this world, which never stopped pointing to our limitations. We are surrounded with what made us limited: the time, the movement, and the body. In poetry I search for an existence salvation.
Poetry cannot be abbreviated into foreordainment images neither it is a beautiful accumulated poems. It is a project of a poet who wants to tell the world: I see the world from different angles. I touch it so I could see a path, which releases me from its walls.
When I read poetry, first thing I search for, is the presence of the poet as a living creature throughout his work and beyond the surface of the extract. I would not carry on reading, when I cannot find that.
In a good text, I found the poet, profoundly with clear visualise, forwarding his steps, towards his inner self and at the same time carrying me towards my own inner self. Poet, in bad text, is moving aimlessly at the surface of his objects and words. He writes something that he cannot find similar in his deep self, so the text is non-strata.
In future our belief in poetry will grow stronger, I am sure and Man’s roaming would be closer to the flame of poetry.
Ultimately, the ability to be near the heaven of poetry is unlimited, but still to catch it is the impossible task .
All poems are failing attempts to catch the poetry, but:
In Quixote’s certainty
I carry on waiting
For that Poem
Which leads Eternity
Into my snare.
Translated by: Salam Naji