In all two of my previous blog posts, I have written on topics that hold a creative value. Topics that, as a writer, I saw as important, and felt inclined to give my opinion on. This post, however, sways a little to the emotive side of things, and how it applies to certain writing. No, I'm not taking a huge leap in a different direction, but again -- it is a topic that I feel is important. And what better way than to ramble within a blog post?
Poetry is awesome. It is a wonderfully personal way to portray what is in the heart, without having to actually speak it. One can pour their feelings into any variety of forms...and nobody has to read it. Obviously, there is poetry worth sharing and publishing -- congratulations should you be among that number -- but that is its beauty. It can be enjoyed in solitude as well as company of many.
To my delight, I have been given the ability/opportunity to write poetry of my own. The quality of which I have yet to discover, but I have a quaint collection of sorts. However, while the size of that collection increases almost weekly, I have yet to write a true love poem. It's funny - to some people, poetry has become synonymous with love. And yet, I ignore any inclination to attempt writing to someone in affection. Why? Well, in the past, I refused for the sole reason that I have never experienced the love of which I would be writing, thereby giving me no right to do so.
But two weeks ago...I was convinced by a friend to try. I pulled an aabbccdd and wrapped it up that night. I'm not gonna lie, it was adorable. But now I look at it and know that it is not, in fact, a "love poem". The reason for that? It had no return. Because it was not written about an actual person, there was nobody to experience my affection and return it. This made my poem into sixteen random lines written for a ghost in my mind.
Written below are my official thoughts on this. They give my opinion and more explanatory reasoning on the matter.
This I believe: A love poem holds little to no importance until the subject is able to read it, and with full knowledge that they are indeed the subject. Furthermore, it is necessary that the person reading is able to return the affectionate sentiments, due to the collaborative and easily collapsible nature of the adoring poetry. For only when the mind of the author and the mind of the subject are joined in tender harmony are the author's words made a reality. Until then, they are merely a hope.
See, there is a vast difference between observing and caring, and experiencing and sharing; even if the observational affection is legitimate! Allow me to break down the two sides...
"Observing and caring" refers to one sided inspiration. It is my adoration of someone I see from afar and care for. Like I said, one's feeling in this situation can be legitimate. But it will never compare to "experiencing and sharing". This clearly refers to mutual love. It is a two-sided participation in the love poem's sediments.
Let me reference Ludwig Rellstab's "Ständchen". I first heard it as a Lieder in Franz Schubert's musical masterpiece "Serenade". Translated from it's original German, the first two stanzas read as follows:
"Softly my songs plead
Through the night to you;
Down into the silent grove,
Beloved, come to me!
Slender tree-tops whisper and rustle
In the moonlight;
My darling, do not fear
That the hostile betrayer will overhear us."
This is a perfect example of two-sided participation. Now, obviously, I don't know the exact authorial intent (it could be a work of fiction), but I like to think of it as an honest display of mutual affection. Because, in these verses, the speaker is relying on the subject's participation. He is insinuating through his text that she will indeed come, and then he will be able to speak these words to her. She will hear the words of affection! And from there she can give a response.
But what if I wrote those words? There would be no response, for there is nobody to write it to. At least, nobody from whom I could receive mutuality that would make the poem a decided reality. I could not write it because my words could not be confirmed by her. It is yet one-sided.
In conclusion, a love poem without return is a wish. Nothing more. It holds no gravity, save for in fantasy and dreams.
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