Learning is a strange process. After writing poetry for ten years I’m beginning to realize there are skills involved. My tool bag? Quite empty at the moment. And it is this lack that propels me to enquire.
Language. We begin learning by listening, not by recognizing the alphabets. Perhaps poetry is the same thing. We begin by thinking (not writing)—that everything is a puzzle and nothing is what it seems to be. From one thought, go deep, branch out, retrieve, manipulate; poetry is art.
Take out logic, what do we have? Capturing random thoughts requires intention. Connecting the conscious and the subconscious and what to do with them? These are my questions. After breaking down one door there is always another. Poetry is mystery.
Listen to many languages to come up with a new language, one that may illustrate my thoughts. It’s English with a new outfit. And I’m fickle, always wanting a new outfit.
