Thursday's Poetry Challenge - Exploring Legend
What becomes a legend most? Great talent, suffering, and mystery. . . three ingredients that French poet Arthur Rimbaud possessed in spades. For those unfamiliar with the broad lines of his life, he was a child prodigy and enfant terrible who, between the ages of fifteen and twenty, revolutionized modern poetry, only to abruptly stop writing at twenty-one, disappear in Africa, and die at thirty-seven.
Below, is a poem of mine, where I contrast Rimbaud's mysterious legend and, paradoxically, the hard work required in making a name for oneself:
Could it be that, from the start
the thing he sought, this demon-angel,
was always just outside the page
That, after swimming the length of the alphabet,
with fine gills and deranging senses, he created
an opening for others, but a trap for himself?
If so, then slipping through those watery bars
was imperative, a chastened mysticism –
and freedom to write in the air, to be human.
To have a name and make a name is not the same
True, both are spun of love and will and dreams
But one is blindly granted as we blink in the light,
The other we must forge from our innermost
Nameless, once more, we are reborn into the world
From the soul’s furnace, we strive to stake our claim
Hotly hammering desires, giving shape to longing
And setting it to cool, approximating an ideal
Then again, we must teach this babe to crawl ahead
Mothering it with care, fathering it with courage
So that, one day, it can freely live apart from us
And find its place in our clamoring times and after.
[Words & Art: ©Yahia Lababidi]
To learn more about @theinkwell's poetry challenge and submit your (11th hour) entry, please, read this post
There is so much I love in this, but I am mostly struck with
which brought me right back to
Is it the journey that matters, not the destination, as the overused adage goes? Is it the yearning that propels us all forward? Will there be after-clamoring times? Or always this quest?
These are the thoughts your swell poem have got swirling in my head.
Thank you, for your close reading & encouragement. Yes, it’s the yearning, I believe, that matters & a sense of a Calling ...
As Rimbaud says:
One should not say I think, but I am thought. Too bad for the wood that finds itself a violin.
that is one lovely quote!
too bad for the stone that finds itself a crystal
or for the bramble that finds itself a berry
:)
I love the way I was expectant, it brought about a sense of curiosity in the poem and I loved it there was this sense of beauty also that it embodied. Plus I've always been an advocate of simplicity when it comes to writing of poems. This one had it really good. Well-done sir.
Grateful for your kind appreciation and to hear my poem held your attention and was an aesthetic experience for you. I’m of the opinion that ornate language can detract/distract from profound experiences — so prefer to keep it simple 🙏🏼
Love this poem and the build up text Yahia. I have to admit I have never heard of, or read the poetry of, Arthur Rimbaud. It's great when you get introduced to a new writer through a post on steem like this.
There are so many images in your poem that speak to my poets soul.
I think that the way this verse constructs the concept of how we forge our desires and perhaps personality like a blacksmith creating something solid from liquid metal is my favorite.
Great poem and explanation of legend Yahia. I'm glad you joined us at the ink well to contribute some of your fantastic creative writing.
Thanks :)
Rowan
O, Rowan, it’s a privilege to introduce you to Rimbaud — discovering a new poet is like sighting a new star in the skies.
He’s a remarkable figure, well worth knowing (if you’re into movies, Total Eclipse, might be a fun place to start).
I’m glad the poem works for you & to explore the idea of legend — something that captures my imagination.
Cheers, mate ✌🏼
Yahia, great to see you here!
Your poetry is powerful, succinct, and rich, as always. Your mention of Rimbaud led me to your book review, Rimbaud’s Spiritual Battle, at World Literature Today (Jan. 2019). An excellent review!
Jim Morrison and Bob Dylan were said to be inspired by Rimbaud. Now that's a sign of how far reaching a poet's influence can be. And to think Rimbaud stopped writing by age 21 - died at 37 - with so many regrets.
Somehow this makes me think of Nick Drake, another poetic soul who died young. (An overdose, an accident.) Those who feel too deeply seem not to last long in this world. Live long and prosper, Yahia!
And if you haven't seen @owasco's posts about the two prisoners, I'll track down the links for you. Oddly, it seems to be a bright side (to my way of thinking) that these souls are "safe behind bars" - might they otherwise be self-destructing on the outside? That's a rhetorical question. I have long been haunted by the short and tragic lives of the great artists, Mozart, Van Gogh, the list is long. Do they fly too close to the sun? Again, no answer expected, but your provocative insight--Nameless, once more, we are reborn into the world--got me thinking along those lines.
Here we go:
Her poem is followed by this brief reminder of the story:
Hey thanks Carol!
Wow, thanks, for sharing this; will explore 🙏🏼
So much to ponder, here, @Carolkean— you really must let me know if you’re ever in S Florida so we can have a long, proper chat.
I, too, did not think I’d live past 25 —now, at 46, I feel as though I’m outliving myself — and share your fascination with the intense one who do not last long.
Thank you, for finding & reading my Rimbaud review. I hope I’m past the stage of being attracted to the destructive ones and look forward to exploring intriguing links you shared.
Stay blessed, kindred spirit 🙏🏼✨
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