Poetry has often irritated me. I just dont get it a lot of the time. I’ve always thought that it is because poetry is intrinsically wanky and self indulgent, but I guess it’s possible that my mind isn’t finely tuned enough to understand it. Given that so many people really dig it, it’s probably the latter, now I think about it.
There are 4 poets that I love, however, and seeing as my brain is doing about 20 different types of atrophying right now (pregnancy related, nothing serious), poems are the the perfect balance of light yet deep.
I love Kevin Hart. He melds together both the spiritual and the sensuous.
Dark One, I come to you by stepping back,
Into a world of pawpaw-scented air,
Tied with a string that’s broken here and there
By boats that cut entirely loose and crack
The massive, tender picture of the bay;
Rosella, butcherbird and lorikeet
All speak the ancient language of wet heat,
And a lazy river dreams itself away.
I stand here, Dark One, on a narrow brink
Before a life I know full well and you,
Before a longing for a life I knew,
And telll myself that stepping back a blink
Would bring me close to you, as I once was,
When crumpled water showed its dark, wild life
And brooding morning shadows held me safe
And everything was overfull with us.
From Morning Knowledge by Kevin Hart, 2011