the feeling of waiting

When I do not write poems a long period of time, I have the feeling of waiting. It is not, though, that kind of waiting I wish, because I know that if poetry lets itself to be carried away by this wave, it “gains” nuances of cliché, sentimentalist and common. What I have to do is to try to forget that I have to write, to try to live all the states having the appearance of poetry only for themselves, simply as if they were just life happenings. The poetical text is something that can be reached on sinuous, marginal, hidden ways. I would say that the written poem builds itself rather by the rejection of the states that precede it, by ignoring the poetic states. This happens because the poem is not the expression of the author’s poetical states, as wrongly they say in school, but the written version of the poem merely anticipated, the written version of an awaiting intentionally repressed, as Freud should have said.

a minimal threshold

I think of simple things of life in the same way I do in relation with good lines. The day-to-day banalities of life contains as much poetry as the good lines contains usual life. The border between them can be passed over – on both directions – only on the base of an active conscience, only due to a big effort of maintaining the sensitivity’s level at a minimal threshold. Without this effort of will, the risk of passing indifferently by the life situations speaking in terms of lyricism and to read in vain lines which are intimately related to life is hard to be avoided. And what is more “exciting” in this equation is that nothing guaranties the expected result: poetry. Nevertheless, the minimal threshold is worth to be maintained, even by artificial means, such as the refusal to be like people think a poet must be and the ambition to reach as near as possible from what they expect from one who is supposed to be a poet.