What Does it Mean?

To me, this poem speaks a weighty discontent. It tells me that the problem with poetry is in the format in which it’s suppose to be written. A lot of poetry is about nature, love, and all the beautiful things in life. Some of it is humorous, and some is long drawn out logorrhea. Most of it is obscure and puzzling.

Someone once said “The best poets are trained”. Trained? Why do they have to be trained? Should a poet go to a special school and take special classes to learn how to group words in clever patterns? Should they have pretty degrees hanging on their walls, to document their ambiguous intelligence? Should they have special certificates and awards to prove their worth as a poet? Was Emily Dickinson formally educated and renown for her work? Whose poetry, during their lifetime, is honored in the manner that it should be? Has not the best poetry ever written, only found its true worth, after the death of the poet? Was Edgar Alan Poe’s “Dream Within A Dream” worthy of awards and special recognition during his lifetime? How can a man, kicked out of college and WestPoint, be recognized as a “trained” poet? I ask the same question of many of today’s authors. Who will be known for their work 100 years from now? Who will be the center of poetry studies in your great, great, grand-children’s classes? Will there not be poets from today, whose lives were in shambles during their late nights with pen in hand (or at their computer rather)? Will they be discussing the work of authors that you and I have never heard of? I think that may turn to be exactly the outcome.

We, as a society, never recognize the true value of things, until they are no longer easily accessible to us. Our grandparents never learned from their mistakes, but the advice they give us is priceless. But, in getting back to the topic at hand, the point is that the word “trained” is, by chance, a false classification of greatness. Many of you are familiar with Quentin Terintino. He is the famous writer and director of the movies Pulp Fiction and many other disturbing movies. Who has not fell in love with Pulp Fiction the moment they saw it? Maybe some of you. But the point is that, he never even went to film school.

Greatness is not found inside of a classroom. Do not get me wrong by any means, greatness is nurtured within the four walls of a classroom, but it is not found there. Greatness is found inside the soul of an individual. It does not take “training” to bring it out. It only takes the will of the individual. If you could paint a picture at 12, that was worthy enough to hang in your room and disturb your parents, there is no school that will make that painting any more worthy of greatness. In fact, the rules of engagement found inside that classroom, may even hinder your creative rebellion and force you to only duplicate the work of others, rather than feed your creative drive and conjure up your own masterpiece.

So summarize, the poem, to me, is an attack on conformity. It is a brash statement against those who believe that a poem should look a certain way, sound a certain way, or make you feel a certain way. There is nothing in a poem that makes it great, other than the depth of soul that is put into it. If it solicits feeling, then it is poetry, despite critical review.


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