Talisman

 

I read this random poem on my feed

and it felt like a sudden talisman –

rare metal shining among the debris,

a flash of green in the stream of taupe and dun.

 

It made me want to cup it in my hands,

to keep it in my pocket, against my skin

so I might feel it all day long as it thrummed

its words and the emotions it ringed in.

 

That was of course an impossible thing –

it stayed a while and vanished from my screen,

the day went on with its relentless rhythms

but I kept seeing phantom flashes of green.

 

It taught me to spot the rare through the debris

and it changed the screen forever. And changed me.

Poetry is my comfort food. I'm consuming rather a lot right now for reasons various - not that anyone needs any coherent reason for poetry, consumption or generation. Some or other thing prods some or other sense organ and off one goes - to find a verse that will do the job of self soothing or pumping a metaphorical fist or dancing a jig or whatever. 

Sometimes I find that in a regular printed book snatched from the bookshelf. At others I click into a long familiar website. And of course, the algos notice all this and pepper my SM feeds with poets and poems. I've found  many gems this way which have gone on to becoming absolute favourites. 

"I thought poetry could change everything, could change history and could humanise and I think that the illusion is very necessary to push poets to be involved and to believe, but now I think that poetry only changes the poet."  - Mahmoud Darwish.

I do often think of this quote by Darwish, who's also a favourite of mine. I don't know if poetry changes others, I can only speak for myself. As far as I'm concerned, poetry has been the bedrock of learning and a profound change maker. It has certainly grown me up and out - from nursery rhymes in Bengali to Tagore and Sukanto and Jibanananda and Darwish and Faiz and Ghalib and Neruda and Dickinson and Shakespeare and Whitman and Tennyson and Cavafy and Mary Oliver and Roberts both Frost and Browning and... 

It's not obvious, after reading something by say, Edna St Vincent Millay no one can pinpoint the exact thing that's happened, but somewhere there's one extra, tiny tool to navigate the world with that wasn't there before, even if it's too minuscule to notice at the time. So...not just comfort food but also a navigational aid...

Do you think poetry changes people, changes history? Or does poetry change only the poet? Anyhow. I hope you find your comfort food and navigational aids in whichever form that works for you. Have a wonderful week.