How is it possible that one person finds the answers to a thousand questions while looking at a single blade of grass? Another person walks by and sees nothing at all.Is it a veil that lifts that allows for clarity? How does one travel through elaborate paths to reach such poetic conclusions? These are questions that I ponder, reach for, mull over.
I was recently contacted by my dear friend John. He asked if I would kindly look over a poem he had written and let him know what I thought about it. It’s very honoring when someone allows you to see a piece of their soul through their writings. Every time one of my photos or writings is shown publicly it makes me feel so vulnerable because my work is a intricate part of who I am and it’s not easy allowing people into your private galleries.
When John approached me with his poem, I couldn’t help but want to find out the story behind his writing.
Here’s an excerpt of the dialogue that ensued between us.
John: I wrote this poem on Christmas morning. It is a poem about origins, it is based on science and biblical and pagan mythology.
Me: John, you have one of the most brilliant and intricate minds I have ever met. I am so intrigued by your thoughts, the way you decipher and decode the world around you. That's a true gift and I love that you want to share that. Remember us talking about art/writing having a "vibration" to it and as I read your poem I could feel that special vibe that is unique only to you. I am intrigued, tell me more about your poem. By that I mean, What were you feeling at the time you were writing it? Did your words come all at once or was it something that was difficult to process? What I am most curious about is, what was going through your mind as you were writing? When I write I always have a theme or "vision" that I am drawing from as the source that drives the subject. tell me more.
John: So basically when I started writing, I intended to write a poem about an experience I had in a forest on Halloween. Crazy I know. But as I wrote all the words just flowed from my mind, it took about 20 min to write. What was I feeling? I can't remember...but origins fascinate me, so perhaps I was feeling fascinated? Sometime when I write I feel nothing at all, it just flows.
Me: Our conversation has me off on a tangent. That's how creativity works in me. I often start off with a blank slate and then suddenly a thought pops up and I begin in a direction. But even within a specific direction there are detours and the end result can often turn into something completely different then what I had originally started with. Just as you started with Halloween and ended with Christmas. I love detours, I am always in awe of the creative mind and it's many facets and avenues. I have been reading John Steinbeck recently. Steinbeck's words flow so effortlessly and I find myself intrigued by his mood, emotions and ability to articulate in such a way that provokes my mind and heart. As I read his writings I keep wondering, What was he thinking? Where does he draw from? How is he able to articulate what he feels so eloquently? That's why I asked you those questions, it is always something that I am curious about.
John gave me permission to post his poem in my blog. I know you will enjoy the writings of John Evrett.
-------------------- The smell of pine so fine I pace with fright Your face fills me with flight You feel I reel
Fight or flight? Pace or face? Eyes flounder and wonder Like primitive past
Does your fair voice Make my hair stand?
Shocked by falling rocks Like pyre aflame Round he found you Swirled and twirled Gigantic clouds Your nursery A sheath like a wreath he placed round you. To protect, from star afar.
Your circuit Is the worship of your creator Pace yourself His face ever before you. At Neptune's gaze Seas rage under the pages of heaven Come here, no further To this shall your waves rise
Swaddled like a baby with bands of deep darkness and fog
The day gloom fumes I fawn after the dawn Sunrise with Rays that lay Across the page of heaven Struck with wrought I fought At the command of Mars Wars march forward. Filled with fury Earth floods with blood
Bring him, O earth the treasures of your hearth. Mine your heart Fine gold from your soul. Let the seeds flirt with dirt. Bring your green treasure.
Here we stand, gazing above Walk to the fine line. Be Ye not foreign to your origin.
~ By John Evrett