It has often been said that the question, what is art? is one of the most difficult questions in the world. Some say it cannot be defined, some say it can be anything. But personally, I never really bothered myself too much with the intricate details of it's definition. For me, art should simply fulfill one criteria: It must be beautiful. It should provoke thought and emotion as well but sometimes, why complicate things when you can simply enjoy the moment?
Maybe it's because of my own lacking in the creative arts of painting and singing, but I've always had a small thing for poetry though I'm not the literature student. There was just something in the way it was capable of being a facade to only coyly reveal the intention of the writer which made it possible for self-expression without baring it all. In a way, it was the win-win point of a diary and a blog where feelings and stories can be shared while maintaining a certain degree of privacy.
By some coincidence, I've been listening to a couple of poems of late. Some, like this one that was playing over the radio had the simple beauty of words carefully chosen like the finest ingredients for that perfect dessert:
If I had my child to raise all over again,
I'd build self-esteem first, and the house later.
I'd finger paint more, and point the finger less.
I would do less correcting and more connecting.
I'd take my eyes off my watch, and watch with my eyes.
I would care to know less and know to care more.
I'd take more hikes and fly more kites.
I'd stop playing serious, and seriously play.
I would run through more fields and gaze at more stars,
I'd do more hugging and less tugging.
I'd see the oak tree in the acorn more often,
I would be firm less often, and affirm much more.
I'd model less about the love of power,
And more about the power of love.
--Diane Loomans
I'd build self-esteem first, and the house later.
I'd finger paint more, and point the finger less.
I would do less correcting and more connecting.
I'd take my eyes off my watch, and watch with my eyes.
I would care to know less and know to care more.
I'd take more hikes and fly more kites.
I'd stop playing serious, and seriously play.
I would run through more fields and gaze at more stars,
I'd do more hugging and less tugging.
I'd see the oak tree in the acorn more often,
I would be firm less often, and affirm much more.
I'd model less about the love of power,
And more about the power of love.
--Diane Loomans
But what's striking about poetry is how sometimes, the words and tone are so beautiful, they arouse ambivalence because of the ugliness of a darker story it tells. I complete this post with a video on Felix Dennis's ode to vices and consequences. Despite his vices, he was no doubt a good poet, but alas one who, in my opinion, seemed not to regret it and is possibly rather proud of it.
Eugene remembered @ 2:30 PM
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