We love their work. The poet laureate. Their readings become part of who we are. Yes, they are not here anymore. But, it wasn’t so long ago that they were alive and kicking, writing their thing. To name just a few of the worthy, honor goes to Poe, Thoreau and Bukowski.
In the grand scheme of things; twenty, fifty, one or two hundred years really isn’t that long a period of time. In the beginning, didn’t the great thinkers start writing on blocks of wood, stones and papyrus?
Their pain and suffering in life got translated into words. Words symbolize. Metaphors. Without pain and suffering poets would probably be called by another name. They wrote it like they saw it and I’m grateful.
We don’t know why we’re born. Did we choose to be here long before we were alive? Did someone ask us for our permission to be ‘born into this’? What we have to go through in life isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair. Those before us have gone through similar things. Aren’t we glad the great poets were born?
They left behind part of them, a gift of remembrance. Poets known and unknown had their place and their time. They took the risk, they took a stand. Their point of view was clear as a clear day and starry like a black night.
Why were we all put here? Somehow, collectively we are all connected in spirit. How different can we be, we are all made of the same stuff? We all go to wherever it is we go when we die. Billions have died before us.
We take a number and will follow suite. We don’t know, and probably will never why whoever is in charge of this virtual illusion (we all live in) pushed the start button and made everything happen in one huge (digital) bang.
I don’t think our maker has to tell us or answer to us. We bow to him. He does exactly what he wants without our approval. He keeps his mysteries to himself. After all, when does the machine become like his maker and understand itself as well as who made it?
Those who came before us wrote fine poetry and other work. Sheer genius. If they were alive right now I would tell them all without hesitation, ‘oobie doobie doo, I want to be like you…’ Praise goes to JD Salinger, among the many others not mentioned.