Ars Poetica / L’art de la poésie

Learn the rules of the craft
Meters and rhymes
Sonnets and haikus
Epigraphs and epigrams

Ignore these rules
Break free from conventions
Experiment and play

Write and write some more
Hard to edit a blank page
Read your words out loud
Forego the empty ones

Poetry is not only written
It’s also read and spoken
Sever the tethers of shyness
Stand naked in front of others

Read Frost, Poe and Cummings
Once as a reader, once as a writer,
Open your ego to feedback
Agree to it once in a while

Watch, listen, touch, smell and taste,
Love, suffer, hate and surrender,
Let your tears, blood and sweat be your ink

Describe what the deaf cannot hear
What the blind cannot see
What the censored cannot tell

So your art will one day
Prompt others to feel
And trigger new poems


Apprenez les règles de l’art
Mètres et rimes
Sonnets et haïkus
Épigraphes et épigrammes

Ignorer ces règles
Libérez-vous des conventions
Expérimentez et jouez de la plume

Ecrivez et écrivez encore
Difficile d’améliorer une page vierge
Lisez vos mots à voix haute
Oublier ceux vides de sens

La poésie n’est pas seulement écrite
Elle est aussi lue et parlée
Coupez les chaines de la timidité
Tenez vous nus devant l’audience

Lisez Frost, Poe et Cummings
Une fois en tant que lecteur
Une fois en tant qu’écrivain
Exposez votre égo aux commentaires
Acceptez-les de temps en temps

Voyez, écoutez, touchez, sentez et goûtez
Aimez, souffrez, détestez et abandonnez vous
Que vos larmes, sang et sueur soient votre encre

Décrivez ce que les sourds ne peuvent pas entendre
Ce que les aveugles ne peuvent pas voir
Que les censurés ne peuvent pas dire

Pour que votre art incitera un jour
D’autres poètes et d’autres poèmes

Generations

Haphazardly I learned what my father never taught,
Alone, facing, the world I struggled to grow,
I hope mistakes with my son I committed not.

My nascent ideas had to strive without support,
Which means credit to anyone I do not owe,
Haphazardly I learned what my father never taught.

Through subtle or painful teachings my son was wrought,
I truly tried to be a better father, of that I know,
I hope mistakes with my son I committed not.

So he does not need to endure what I fought,
Even today my own path forward I plough,
Haphazardly I learned what my father never taught.

My son always made me proud, even as a tot,
Incredible drive surely he will continue to show,
I hope mistakes with my son I committed not.

Together bound by an undeniable genetic knot,
Fathers only wish for their sons to avoid woe,
Haphazardly I learned what my father never taught,
I hope mistakes with my son I committed not.

Image

Inspiration

My friends came to visit last night
Angels within the heavens
Rousseau and Zola argued with Voltaire
Gauguin spoke of colors, Mozart of music,
Baudelaire of melancholy and Daudet of his mill
Hugo invented a dark new tale
Gavroche listened his hat in hand
Don Quixotte boasted of chivalric romances
Sancho Panza didn’t say a word

My friends came to visit last night
Angels within the heavens
Tolstoy mourned Anna Karenina
Byron the massacred souls at Chios
Gogol cried over Pushkin’s death
Heine over failed revolutions
Hemingway drank mojitos
Bukowski quaffed Cutty Sark
Wilde and Van Gogh
Fought over the absinthe

My friends came to visit last night
Angels within the heavens
In the early morning they left
Amongst the empty bottles and filled ashtrays
I found a few fragments of inspiration
Just enough to make this poem