"These pages reproduce me very imperfectly, and there are many things in me of which I find no trace in them. I suppose it is because, in the first place, sadness takes up the pen more readily than joy; and, in the next, because I depend so much upon surrounding circumstances. When there is no call upon me, and nothing to put me to the test, I fall back into melancholy; and so the practical man, the cheerful man, the literary man, does not appear in these pages. The portrait is lacking in proportion and breadth; it is one-sided, and wants a center; it has, as it were, been painted from too near" --- Henri-Frédéric AmielA while back, a friend of mine, upon reading some of my poetry, gave me the strangest look. I asked what was wrong, and she replied with the classic line, "You must be so sad." I couldn't help but laugh, because when going back reading over some old poems, I always think the same thing. I found this quotation this morning and it just made sense. I'm not always sad. It's just that sad requires writing about. Joy just kind of wants to be experienced. Thousands of constant influences going on around me, and when there's nothing, it feels like emptiness. Ah, the life of a poet!
the Rare Poet
No comments:
Post a Comment