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A Poet's Mind by Alex Ness. Ch.3 "The Wellspring of Ideas and Transformational Journeys."

A Poet's Mind by Alex Ness. Ch.3

Our Indy Showcase is back with another chapter of "Poet's Mind." by author/poet Alex Ness. Witness as we start to get to the meat of what poetry means to Ness as he discusses the drive of ideas as well as intpreting the transition from the forms of Life and flesh to death and beyond.




 

“Such is the role of poetry. It unveils, in the strict sense of the word. It lays bare, under a light which shakes off torpor, the surprising things which surround us and which our senses record mechanically.” Jean Cocteau

I’ve tried to, in the previous two editions of this column to describe what I do, as a poet, and what I think poetry is. So I don’t write about pretty pink unicorns and I don’t write about things that don’t move me. I am not a poet that everyone thinks of when they think Poetry. So why call myself a “Poet” then? What else is there? Writer is too general. I write yes but I don’t write much prose, and I don’t do scripts or plays. What I do is write poetry, even when and IF I write in other forms. My story in Sasquatch is less a straight forward narrative than a description in 5 pages or so of why humans see Sasquatch and Yeti when we look into the woods. What I believe in it isn’t the point, but, the story was written in a form that was roundly well received, but for an anti Green libertarian who hated it. (23 reviews good, 1 bad, and I remember the bad one, yes I am a bit focused on the negative). It was poetry, however it was perceived. And as such, I am a poet, however my work is read by whoever reads it.

And that takes me to another thought … The old adage of a tree falling in the woods, does it make a sound if no one is there to hear it… rings true for a poet especially because, if no one reads our words or hears them, do they matter? At one point in my writing I was writing over 80 hours a week, and trying to live and work in the real world outside of that. I slept little, and became almost fixated upon working my way into either an early grave or finding success. However, I failed at both, I am alive, and found no success. So I cannot tell you more about what to try to get published or become successful, I have no idea what the answer is.

Beyond writing, and being published, how does a creative person get their ideas? I believe that is a question with a variety of answers. But there are no single answers for you, I am sorry to say. Each creative talent is a reservoir of influences, memories, ideas, from the past, from life experiences, and talents that are born in them, that they draw upon and use. So first we have to agree that no one knows how much or in what way the talent will bloom and grow. Second, we can only hope it grows and reaches its fullest potential.

Ideas come from a creator being struck by some new idea.

Ideas come from an old idea not having worked and the creative talent wishing to try their own hand at doing it better
.
Ideas come from liking something so much the creator wishes to revisit that familiar and happy place by doing it themselves, either in homage or simply by a desire to do it as a result of a fascination with the original.

Ideas come from life experiences or learning, and a desire to create something that reflects that.

All and all, we are faced with a world that is open to ideas, but only purely open to it in the form of fiction. A poet is more free than others to explore, because most people see poets as gentle, soft, mopey teddy bears, but, our role in culture is to ask questions, to challenge norms, to poke at the ‘delicato corpore’ of this mamoth beast of culture.

And I enjoy my job doing so.

The following poem was written at a time when my mom was visiting, and her Alzheimer’s was about at its peak. She died two years later, but it had just about taken all it could be this time. Some might wonder if I was embracing death, I was not, I was just in a place where I could see, the end was more than dying, it was a time for change and transformation.

Again, as with all poems presented here all words copyright me… blah blah and blah…


Time and Death


Death is
And I do not
I sorrow not my pains
I grieve not my losses
Nor do I joy over
Victories nor gains
For there is nothing I have
That can be kept
Nothing I love
Will remain
Beyond this world
Beyond this clay
There is only the spark
That the one placed in us

You can long for justice
You can desire wealth
Or equality
But in the end what is there
Either hope, spark, trust and love
Or we are dust with no purpose
This life is temporal
Our fragile flesh
The true existence is eternal
How to find it
How to become it
I do not know
But death is near
From our first breath

Fatally living
It is clear
We’ve no choice
Either live with our fragility
Or scream at the injustice
Of dying
I die freely
Knowing it is not an end
I die and know
Time does not exist
Except to dying flesh
  

By Alex Ness.

 

For more of Alex Ness you can find him at his site: http://alexnesspoetry.blogspot.com/

and on facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AlexNessPoetandwriter

 





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About the Author - J.M. Hunter


J.M. Hunter is best expressed as an artist who enjoys working in many mediums. One of them is writing. In the guise of InDiY Hunter, J.M. Hunter’s focus is as an independent comics creator who interviews other Independent artists/creators and showcases their personal ideologies and stories. The “hits” and “almost-got’ems” of the creative collective that do their craft not because it’ll make them rich but because they love what they do, even when they don’t is a special kind of magic. This is the reward that keeps on giving and J.M. Hunter likes it. HE LIKES IT!

 


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