I have been struggling since May 2016 to find my voice again in poetry. I don’t know where to go and what to look at. It isn’t that I have stopped writing poetry, some that has been written is great, some have not met my standard of great but the main thing for me has been trying to be relevant and whether I still am relevant to my own self.
I know grief hits us in many ways and certainly the mourning of my Beloved Teacher has taken its toll on me and despite writing poetry about this, it still hasn’t formed itself into a book. I wanted to write a poetry book about the mourning and grief that I have gone through but somehow it hasn’t found it’s form yet.
Despite starting projects for a new poem book, around 3 to be honest with you, they still haven’t met the requirement to become a book yet. I guess the whole point of writing this blog today is to ask myself if I am still serious about writing poetry or did I lose that touch in May 2016?
My issue is my capability to explain my internal feelings and to make it relatable to the reader. The direct way to see this is through social media. I do find that what I love talking about is of a truth that is inexpressible and can be totally unrelatable unless one has experienced it themselves. The question for me is how to make an unrelatable experience into something that can be applied to everyday problems and experiences. It is not that it can’t be, the question is why am I not challenging myself to do this?
Ultimately, I have to accept my failure in not being able to achieve what I wanted. I have let circumstances get the better of me and maybe I ought to let it define me instead. I don’t know if I have steered away from really inquiring into my day-to-day life and observing life minutely. Have I entered the trap of just living on autopilot? Am I now out of fear just simply lazy? It is not easy for me to admit this and I have really struggled to state this.
Somewhere within me, the writer is wandering around – lost but still observant and alert. Can I bring that writer back on track? I don’t know. I guess this is my way of saying that I am back to square one and I don’t have the same confidence that I had before. I don’t have the voice that I had before and I am not accepting the voice that I have now. A writer in conflict is truly a writer in denial of his or her own talent. When a writer denies his or her own talent then fear cripples any effort to move forward.
The question that I have now is whether the writer in me is willing to continue or do I accept defeat?