This IS somewhat true! Not the first butterfly though.… I live in the country, so I see them every day…
They didn’t know this about me. I’ve always been a bit of a tough guy… built sheds and furniture and picnic tables. Hung out with rowdies and sang in a metal band. Hiked half the Appalachian trail in a shot. Drank beers in honky tonks and flirted with pretty women. A biker gang even named me “Chains”… long story, trust me!
A poet?! Really?
Yeah… really.
However, when they read a few of my poems, I believe they began to understand what I was doing. Poets wear many hats… Some even congratulated me, which was another milestone for me. They accepted that I represent more than an average everyday person. A balance of the light and heavy…
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I’m just an average everyday person that is able to articulate what most average everyday people are feeling and want to say. I think this defines many modern poets.
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Poetry is about more than rainbows and butterflies. It’s not all the Robert Frost kind of nature trip… or even the Robert Browning sort of introspections. It’s not all John Milton inspired perfectly metered verse, or the angular intricate constructions of E.E. Cummings. It’s not even even all the dark art poetry that permeates today’s social media, accentuating carnal sides of our natures… the flip side to NICE poetry.
Many poets have a default muse they draw upon. They may try different styles, but there is something at the marrow that fuels their art. For me, that is adversity. This adverse misunderstanding bothered me… but only motivated me to write even more.
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Troubles tend to drive me into my best works, often obfuscated in various concluding themes of redemption, despair, or despondency. This tension rocked me a number of times… and perhaps even guided the pen to what some consider my best work “The Colored Number Of My Counted Days”, published in my book Constellation Road.
I recently moved my 83 year old mother in with me to watch after her. She suffered what appears to be a minor stroke a couple of days ago and hasn’t been the same since. I’m sick with worry right now., worried about her at my house when I’m at work. Something in her eyes has dulled. Yet I meet the adversity with courage and keep on… Strangely, I haven’t really written a poem about this. Afraid to I guess. Don’t know why…
I do know that when harnessed properly, this tension that is created through adversity can be refined in passion to create something special. My best work is ahead of me I know. It doesn’t make it any easier knowing hard times are coming…
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Does adversity move you as a poet? Or do you compartmentalize your problems… and focus on other aspects of life? If you are moved by the troubles, is it therapeutic? Or is it just another theme to go off of?
Please feel free to comment on this article. I know it is a bit more personal than the usual poetry blog, but writing is what we do, and this topic is becoming nearer to my heart than I ever thought it could before.
Thanks for reading!
Matt Elmore
