Making Art

Late one night this week I penned these words just before drifting off to sleep:

Why do we get fatter

When we are starved?

Why do we get so bloated

When we are empty

Sometimes what we want

Is not what we need

There is a difference sometimes

Sometimes what we want

Is disguised

Sometimes what we want

Is out of reach

Or so it seems

So we reach for something else

But maybe what I really want

Is to feel the runner’s high

Maybe what I really need

Is to be heard

Maybe what I really miss

Is your embrace

And being with you

Instead of alone

I don’t know if I remember well

How that feels

 

When I read through the poem at the end, I asked myself what it meant. I wrote down several words and phrases that came to mind. Ten, to be exact. In the coming weeks, you will see posts on some of these. Through this method I hope to demonstrate a bit of the process of self-discovery that can occur through writing poetry. Sometimes a poem is the result of what I see, but other times a poem is the lens through which I begin to see. As a reader, you too are a large part of this process. If you read the poem and write down ten words or phrases it makes you think of, I doubt they will be the exact same as mine. That is a wonderful thing about writing. David Schildkret, the director of choral activities at Arizona State University (with whom I’ve had the privilege of working under) has said:

The composer and performers are not actually making art, even though we think we are. We provide the stimulus to the audience’s imagination, and they are the ones actually creating the art.

I believe the same applies to readers. The author may think they are making art, but it is the reader that makes it come alive in her own mind.

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