The Poets Muse and what worries an artist

img_1880It’s time to put some thoughts down – this last year has been so busy and so full of emotion, moving to a new country, trying to learn the language, making new friends, the physical work of moving, moving and moving.  There just was so little time for reflection – fact is that life is good!

For the first time in my life I can say that I’m truly happy, fulfilled, secure and cosy….. along with all that positive stuff has been a nagging feeling in the base of my skull, a question that has been scratching around in my cranium – because I’m happy, have I lost my mojo? Have I lost my ability to write poetry? to paint?

I’ve not discussed it with anyone, I’ve not even voiced this to myself, I’ve just been hoping that when the time is right the Muse would visit again.

A lot of artists fight with depression all their lives, most of us strive for happiness, but are a little bit afraid to take the step towards where we know we can find it because we are just so damned afraid that once we settle into some form of bliss that will be the end of our creativity. I made a clear decision when I followed my heart and soul, knowing that if the mojo will be gone – so be it! Not sure that the world would miss my paintings and poems, not that the world has seen much, there are other forms of expression – I guessed.

Just over the last few weeks, especially after the death of Leonard Cohen, I’ve been thinking about this a lot.  A friend reminded me of a time when I painted and listened to Leonard constantly – I must have worn that CD out, it wasn’t even mine – later the young woman who owned it gave it to me as a parting gift.  Last night I had a dream that I wrote a poem again and I knew the sound of it – the rhythm and a little bit of rhyme. But as often happens in my dreams I looked at the sheet of paper the poem was written on and I could not make out the words, they seemed just out of my reach – very frustrating! As I slowly began to wake – probably from the frustration, I saw the place where I stood and some lines formed in my head….. I knew more was coming, I could feel it cramming behind those two lines, but of course I didn’t know what they were until I’d written the lines down.

I have never been able to ‘contrive’ a poem, it always has to flow from somewhere outside of my head, I can then work it and rework it, I can then add to it – because when I re-read the words I’d written it’s like catching the line of silk again.  I never know what the poem is going to be about – I just write.

So, here we are – the first poem I’ve written in 18 months and the first blog I’ve written in my life! A bit of a blather……



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