A poet can't speak of love, with the most zealous and passionate phrases, if they haven't experienced it before.
That's what I think. And that's what makes me cringe when I read a love poem made of cheesy metaphors and empty descriptions.
Romantic feelings are sacred, they don't just come to us when we set down, pen in hand, ready to elicit verses of passion.
That's why, batushka, I have no respect for a poet or a writer that feigns feelings; it's an insult to all the real romantics out there...Not that I fully grasp what it means to be in love myself-the real sentiment, the possessive ,mad, woeful kind of love, despite experiencing romance once upon a time..which is why Chopin's Nocturne drives me to tears every time I listen to it.
There is something special about it...I always feel that it summarizes a love story... a sweet ,delightful love story from the time of Shakespeare.
Although I don't claim to be a poet, for I never wrote about love before....maybe because I refuse to be possessed by something as wicked and manipulative as Kitsch, or maybe because "we can never establish with certainty what part of our relations with others is the result of our emotions - love, antipathy, charity, or malice- and what part is predetermined by the constant power play among individuals", and hence we never know the difference between true love and caprices ...caprices don't give birth to poems, my dear batushka.
Perhaps I would finally be able to describe love beautifully if i do fall in love again ..some day...but until then, the Bohemian in me that wakes up with the first droplets of rain every year, shall resume her slumber until next November.
That's what I think. And that's what makes me cringe when I read a love poem made of cheesy metaphors and empty descriptions.
Romantic feelings are sacred, they don't just come to us when we set down, pen in hand, ready to elicit verses of passion.
That's why, batushka, I have no respect for a poet or a writer that feigns feelings; it's an insult to all the real romantics out there...Not that I fully grasp what it means to be in love myself-the real sentiment, the possessive ,mad, woeful kind of love, despite experiencing romance once upon a time..which is why Chopin's Nocturne drives me to tears every time I listen to it.
There is something special about it...I always feel that it summarizes a love story... a sweet ,delightful love story from the time of Shakespeare.
Although I don't claim to be a poet, for I never wrote about love before....maybe because I refuse to be possessed by something as wicked and manipulative as Kitsch, or maybe because "we can never establish with certainty what part of our relations with others is the result of our emotions - love, antipathy, charity, or malice- and what part is predetermined by the constant power play among individuals", and hence we never know the difference between true love and caprices ...caprices don't give birth to poems, my dear batushka.
Perhaps I would finally be able to describe love beautifully if i do fall in love again ..some day...but until then, the Bohemian in me that wakes up with the first droplets of rain every year, shall resume her slumber until next November.
