I’ve started on Volume III of the poems of Sandler Boggs for those of you interested. I am digging around in my collection of old poems to include a few older ones in this collection (I only did two older ones in the last one). Its interesting to see the aging of someone who writes poetry. It goes from angry (“do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, Rage against the passing of the light”) as Dylan Thomas said. Or the poem by Robert Burns (“The best laid plans of mice and men”). Poetry is a music that touches you. It is the music of words.
Poetry as the music of words
Which is why when I write down my little nibbles of consciousness I do so often while listening to specific music. The beat of the music carries into the poetry giving it depth and breadth and an expression that is native to the words but follows the pattern of the music.
Great musicians are poets as well often. If you read some of the lyrics of Neil Young you will feel the native energy of poetry, that when the music is blended in you get a song that changes things or speaks to you on many levels. The first being the calming affect of the music, the second being the rhythm of the poetry.
I used to write poetry for my wife, but she doesn’t care anymore. She actually doesn’t even read this blog which I guess is sad and happens in marriage over time. People stop being interested in the world around them, accepting it as fait accompli rather than trying to change it.
Which by the way, is the way of poetry. Poetry is the rhythm of change. It is the clashing of the conscious and unconscious mind in a way that sits on the edge of your brain for awhile. You stew over poetry and frankly find different meanings in the words each time you read them.
So to those who went before me, I salute the memories you have given me. I do not wish to go into that good night. I wish my poetry to rage, rage against the quiet silence that comes when the candle is blown out.
I am a poet. I am Sandler Boggs.