Should I shed a tear
For the dying year?
I survived a brain abscess
And lived to see the tree undress
In autumn.
My hair has longed turned white.
I can not fight
The passage of time.
Yet take delight
In this brief rhyme
Of life.
All things pass.
Yet my glass
Is at least half full.
The weather is dull
But I still hear the steady tick tock
Of the clock
On the wall
And relish these fallen leaves
For I, as they
Must pass away.
A shadow in the bathroom glass.
What I see
Is the public me.
And when I pass
There will be
No me to see
Merely soulless glass.
Yet reflected back
In the verse I leave behind
Some may find
In my rhyme
The black
And white we call art.
Now in the mirror I see
The surface me.
And not my heart.
In dreams
It sometimes seems
That dark
Fantasy is reality.
In art we see
A kind of reality.
While inside the dreaming mind
Hides the truth of art.
The dark
Does fight
With the light
In my heart.
For art
Comes from dark
And light.
A guy may buy
A young lady’s eye
And capture her heart
In his immortal art.
But those who buy
Know art may lie.
My friend, Brian drew this recent article in the Telegraph to my attention https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2021/05/22/hot-handel-royal-academy-music-could-dump-artefacts-composer/.
In “Too Hot to Handel”, the Telegraph reports that the Royal Academy of Music is considering disposing of artifacts associated with the composer, due to Handel having invested in the slave trade. It also mentions that Mozart is being reviewed due to his father Leopold having been hosted by those involved in the slave trade during his visit to England.
I have always been of the view that one should consider a work of art (whether music, literature or painting) on it’s own merits. It matters not whether the author was a person of virtue or a disreputable reprobate. If there artistic creation is sublime, then that is what it is.
Slavery was (and remains) an abhorrent practice. However to state this fact is irrelevant when considering the value of Handel (or any other creative person’s work). Of course one may pause when listening to the Messiah and ponder on how a man who could produce such sublime music could have profited from human misery. But, in the end beautiful music remains beautiful music.
One must also view Handel in the context of his time. Many people participated in slavery either as investors or as sailors who brought human cargoes from Africa. It was (and remains) an abominable trade, but whilst condemning past men may give us a feeling of moral superiority, it does not aid our understanding of Handel’s work.
One of my favourite poets (probably my favourite), is Ernest Christopher Dowson. He lived a decadent life and died at the age of 32. During his career he spent much time in the arms of prostitutes and this contributed to some of his most moving verse, including Cynara, https://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2011/mar/14/non-sum-qualis-cynarae-dowson.
I have no interest in what consenting adults choose to do in private, and this view extends to those who consort with the world’s oldest profession. However, even if one holds that those who patronise prostitutes (as Dowson did) are immoral persons who exploit the vulnerable, it is important to judge the worth of an artistic creation on it’s own merits and (so far as is humanly possible) to separate the creator from his creation.
As always I would be interested in the views of my readers.
Recently, an acquaintance related how her father had given her, and other members of his family a book of poetry he had written. The result? None of the recipients of his gift understood his work.
My acquaintance argues that poets ought to compose poetry their readers are able to comprehend, rather than using obscure metaphors and references to mythology which comparatively few people can understand.
Whilst I agree that poets should not be deliberately obscure, I am of the view that the first duty of a poet is to be true to themselves. It is, undoubtedly odd for poets to deliberately compose obscure poetry (and I am sceptical that many do so). However the fact that a poem or series of poems is difficult to interpret does not imply that the poet deliberately made them so.
One can not converse with the dead. But where one to have this privilege, and where one to be able to ask T. S. Eliot about The Wasteland (which many struggle to interpret), he would, I suspect say that his readers should make an effort to understand his poetry, and that he had to write the poem as he did.
I have not met the father of my acquaintance. But I am in no doubt that he put his heart and soul into his work, and that I for one would feel impertinent where I to say “sir, I don’t understand your work, you should have made it mor comprehensible”.
Seemingly simple poems can be open to interpretation. In my Selected Poems is one entitled Raining. I awoke one morning and, hearing the rain was reminded of mortality. I will die but the rain will continue as it always has.
A reader interpreted the reference to rain as implying sadness and, in particular tears. In fact I love the rain and my poem flowed from a feeling of contentment on my part. We all die but there is continuity and beauty in the eternal rain, and the knowledge of this fills me with joy rather than sorrow.
Ultimately poets must remain true to themselves and not sacrifice their art merely to bough down to the lowest common denominator. I hope that people understand what I write, but I will not change the manner in which I compose my poetry to enhance the understanding of my readers.
As always, I would welcome comments.
I would rather be a tree
In the midst of the wood.
For in woodland glades
The traffic noise fades,
And the song of the bird
Fills the heart of the wood.
And the poet’s word
Is as nought to the bird.
Moral men condemn
The world’s sin.
And the devil does grin
For he knows the dark
Within their art.
A man in need of company.
A girl who is free,
For a fee.
So many things can be bought.
I know one can buy
The finest art.
But the heart
Of an escort
Is never bought.
K Morris - Poet 