Where Is Poetry Hiding in Your life?

Where Is Poetry Hiding in Your life?

  ​This article is the personal review after reading the book, Chapter 3, "Awakening the heart" by Georgia Heard.

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  Chapter 3 of Georgia Heard's "Awakening the Heart" contains a philosophical guide that makes us eye-opening the essence of poetry. In summary, poetry is our life, and as long as we are alive, we can make poetry out of anything we want.

   Just my personal opinion is that we need to redefine our philosophy of life to find poetry like her guideline. In other words, a person who, for example, is unsatisfied with the little things and everyday life may find it difficult to feel poetic sensibility. Poetry is ubiquitous, but you can't deliberately force it out, says Georgia Heard. In order to write a poem by calling out a poetic character from these small objects, events, and phenomena, the person must at least have a lot of experience in knowing the value of small things and feeling the beauty.

  For example, if you read "Poetry hides/ in a baby's giggle," in the poem, "Where are the poems hiding," most people feel good for a moment when they hear a child's giggle, but they don't think of changing it into a poem. To make this a poem, you need to have an experience where the sound of a baby's giggles is incredibly grateful and happy. A person who has suffered from depression for a long time accidentally overheard a baby's laughter while walking down the street, did that person enjoy hearing the baby's laughter? Or maybe people generally prefer the sound of the engine from yesterday's new Cadillac car to the giggle of a baby.


  We can always hear a baby's laughs for free. Therefore, people may not even know its value. Therefore, to become a poet, or at least to write poetry, I think having a heart and a philosophy that can see the value of these trivial and trivial things is necessary. If you look at the world with this mindset, anything can become a poem. Therefore, children with pure minds can always write poetry.

  For example, when my son was six years old, one day, he was walking down the street and said this. "Mommy, there must be a big fan behind that big cloud in the sky!" I briefly suppressed the urge to say, "No, it's just the wind," and asked why. "Behind the big clouds in the sky, a fan, a big wind blows. The cloud moves slowly, then suddenly slides forward as if skating forward. It wouldn't be possible if someone didn't push them from behind. Behind the clouds is a large fan that creates a great wind. So the clouds move." I often see a child making a poem all of a sudden. Just by observing these children, I can see where the poem is hiding.
 
  Like Pablo Picasso, who said that "all children are artists," we learn art and poetry through children with clear hearts. Therefore, I find poetry in the songs and stories of many children I see in my life. My daughter, now six years old, recently made this song about her guinea pigs. "

" Pinky is white, orange and brown;
Squash is black, yellow and brown
I love you so much

Pinky likes carrots,Squash prefers hey
I will give you carrots and hey
And change the water to cool fresh water I will give you
I love you so much
​
I will do everything for you 
I am Pinky and Squash Mom
 
  She made a beautiful poem song in seconds and dedicated it to two guinea pigs. Children are born poets. It is our great blessing to be able to hear the lyrics they create. I want to listen to the poetry of every child in the world possible. How many poems are they writing right now?


  Chapter 3's verse about "dragonfly" also makes me realize that poetry is like just a dragonfly. The dragonfly flies low and creates countless beautiful marks when it touches the pond. As we live so close to poetry, it seems that beautiful bubbles and traces are created with just a few touches. In that sense, poetry lives all around us.

  Dragonfly 

It skims the pond's surface,
searching for gnats, mosquitoes, and flies.
Outspread wings blur with speed.
It touches down
and stops to sun itself on the dock.
Wings flicker and still;
Stained-glass windows
with sun shining through. 

(by except, page 58)

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