Homeless Romantic

In four years of literature studies, I learned timidity towards my writing.

The trend of the current literary climate seems to be preference for the erroneously labelled ‘literary’ over the poetic. That is, preference for that which is literal, concrete, and objective over that which is abstract and open to interpretation.

We’d rather talk about social issues than feelings, economic stratification over spirituality – what a damn shame that is. We’d rather spell things out for our readers than give them something to meditate on. The literary finds its audience but the romantics wander around, lost.

Aphorisms and myths and troubadours and epics like Chaucer or Milton, sonnets about nature and love, talking crosses and elves; these are no longer ‘serious’ literature. Works of the past. Vestiges of an art form that has evolved.

So to all the romantics out there who still believe in having fun, please write prolifically. I’d like to see our work push back.


Voice of One Whispering

To each of us is given a voice. Perhaps this voice is a command of colour, a grace of movement, or skill with an instrument. Perhaps this voice is a way with numbers or an intuition for construction. In a rare instance, this voice might involve the vibrating of vocal folds.

We are endowed with a capacity for expression, to impact the world. In turn, we may be impacted. We have ears. We speak and we hear.

How do I know what is worth saying? What is worth listening to? How do I know anyone else will do either?

I’m not sure anyone has a definitive answer, but this I know: we have a duty to speak responsibly and listen responsibly. I have always known to listen. Now I’ll learn to speak. Once decibel at a time.