161 Marbles
In one of my first poetry classes, my prof forbade the indulgence in confessional poetry. Confessional poetry is described by Wikipedia as emphasizing “the intimate, and sometimes unflattering, information about details of the poet’s personal life such as poems about mental illness, sexuality, and despondence” (think Sylvia Plath). As a person brought up as a Catholic, I was comfortable with gory details, confessionals, and absolution. What other poetry would there be?
I produced only the a few passable poems, but not because of my leanings, more because of my lack of passion for the poetic form. Yet, 365 Marbles would definitely be following the spirit of confessional writing. Sometimes when I spill my guts into the computer, I hear the voice of my poetry prof saying, “You’re being too confessional.” I have to override the critic with the following explanation…
Most people feel less than optimal after a breakup (okay, I’ve met a woman who was left at the altar and who managed not to take it personally, but her reaction is a rare occurrence). A breakup generally brings up myriad emotions that skew to the negative. I believe that by sharing my wobbly spots, giving my smallest self the microphone and sharing my post breakup nadir, you may feel less alone.
We usually show the world our strength, yet by hiding our most vulnerable places, we may end up feeling more alone. I’m hoping that by openly sharing my breakup experiences, your experience (no matter how the details differ) will feel less solitary.
What would it take to connect to both the vulnerable places and the strong places post breakup? Are they so black and white? Is there strength in vulnerability? Is there vulnerability in strength? What would it take to have a true union of the self?
In one of my first poetry classes, my prof forbade the indulgence in confessional poetry. Confessional poetry is described by Wikipedia as emphasizing “the intimate, and sometimes unflattering, information about details of the poet’s personal life such as poems about mental illness, sexuality, and despondence” (think Sylvia Plath). As a person brought up as a Catholic, I was comfortable with gory details, confessionals, and absolution. What other poetry would there be?
I produced only the a few passable poems, but not because of my leanings, more because of my lack of passion for the poetic form. Yet, 365 Marbles would definitely be following the spirit of confessional writing. Sometimes when I spill my guts into the computer, I hear the voice of my poetry prof saying, “You’re being too confessional.” I have to override the critic with the following explanation…
Most people feel less than optimal after a breakup (okay, I’ve met a woman who was left at the altar and who managed not to take it personally, but her reaction is a rare occurrence). A breakup generally brings up myriad emotions that skew to the negative. I believe that by sharing my wobbly spots, giving my smallest self the microphone and sharing my post breakup nadir, you may feel less alone.
We usually show the world our strength, yet by hiding our most vulnerable places, we may end up feeling more alone. I’m hoping that by openly sharing my breakup experiences, your experience (no matter how the details differ) will feel less solitary.
What would it take to connect to both the vulnerable places and the strong places post breakup? Are they so black and white? Is there strength in vulnerability? Is there vulnerability in strength? What would it take to have a true union of the self?
No comments:
Post a Comment