Music of the soul

Voltaire once described poetry as the music of the soul. Thomas Gray referred to poetry as thoughts that breathe and words that burn. Robert Frost stated poetry is when an emotion has found its thoughts and the thoughts have found words. William Wordsworth said it is the spontaneous flow of powerful emotions whereas Emily Dickinson believed it is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion. One can believe whatever they want about poetry, but for me, T.S. Eliot described it flawlessly:

"Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unmade feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves."

To put it simply: poetry has the ability to awaken emotions buried deep inside our beings. Whether we chose to acknowledge and delve deeper into those feelings is completely up the individual. However, in my experience, letting those emotions resonate and by listening to what those feelings are saying, I have learned more about the person I am and discovered the music of my soul. By being more in tune with that melody, I am now able to see and appreciate the beautiful wonders of every day living. Life is a miracle and I am blown away every day I open my eyes.

April is National Poetry Month so I thought it would be appropriate to share some of my favorite poems throughout the upcoming weeks. Since there is such a vast array of poets, I will tap into the different eras from E. E. Cummings, Jim Morrison, Buddy Wakefield and so on. For the few people that stumble upon and will actually read this, I hope you find something that speaks to you…just remember to listen.

Moving Forward
 by Rainer Maria Rilke

The deep parts of my life pour onward,

as if the river shores were opening out.

It seems that things are more like me now,

that I can see farther into paintings.

I feel closer to what language can't reach.

With my senses, as with birds, I climb

into the windy heaven, out of the oak,

in the ponds broken off from the sky

my falling sinks, as if standing on fishes.