Further On Up the Road— At West End Gallery
My method is simple: not to bother about poetry. It must come of its own accord. Merely whispering its name drives it away.
–Jean Cocteau, on 26 August 1945; Professional Secrets (1972)
Ain’t that the truth?
And Cocteau would know. Jean Cocteau (1889–1963) was one of those folks who somehow achieve virtuosity in a multitude of fields. Cocteau shone brightly in many ways– as a poet, playwright, novelist, designer, film director, visual artist and critic. His 1946 film of Beauty and the Beast is considered a masterpiece of French cinema, as is The Blood of a Poet from 1930.
Though he found acclaim a variety of mediums, Cocteau considered himself a poet, but one who created poetry in many fields. He believed that poetry could and should be found in any creative field, that poetry was the sought after final product of creation.
But he also realized that actively seeking poetry in whatever medium you might work is often a futile effort. Poetry comes not from the poet or artist calling for it. No, one must first immerse themselves in their work in order to find a rhythm and harmony in the words, the paints, the musical notes, or the movement of the dance they employ.
That coming together of rhythm and harmony is the creator of poetry.
Trying to create true poetry without first finding rhythm and harmony is putting the horse before the cart.
Been there, done that. Too many times. Trying to force feeling into a painting usually produces lifeless work. The feeling or emotional tone and message of any piece doesn’t come into being until a rhythm and harmony is established well into the process.
As a result, the most strikingly emotive pieces, those that are poetry, often come when you least expect them. It’s like that when the moment comes where rhythm and harmony come together, poetry senses its opportunity and jumps in, taking over the whole show.
And in those times, few as they may be, when this occurs in my own work, I am happy to hand over the reins to poetry.
The main thing for any artist in any field is to be at work. Poetry needs a vehicle on which to ride. And the work of the artist is that vehicle.
No work, no poetry. Simple as that.
So, every day, though I may not feel like it and may not feel enthusiastic or poetic in any way, I go to work knowing that poetry is always lurking, ready to ride into form if I give it the opportunity.
And if the opportunity arises and poetry does appear, I am grateful to ride along as its passenger on that day.
Will poetry come around today? Don’t know if it will, but I do know that it won’t unless I get to work.
I struggled to choose a piece to attach to this post. It’s difficult because sometimes the poetry I see is not apparent to everyone. Sometimes it seems as though it shows itself to me alone. Not that I mind that. Our private poetry is often the most satisfying.
I chose the painting at the top, Further On Up the Road, because it has a rhythm and harmony to it that seems easily apparent. Well, it does to me. Whether you find poetry in it is not in my control.
But it’s there for me.
Here’s one of the late recordings of Johnny Cash, produced in the final months of his life. I have commented here before that I believe the work from late in his life was as raw and powerfully deep– poetic– as anything in his long and illustrious career. This is his cover of a Bruce Springsteen song, Further On Up the Road, that I shared here a number of years back.
Redtree Times 