Open Link Monday with Magaly

Welcome to the Garden, Word Lovers…

I’m in an extra-sharing mood, today. So let me share a bit about me.

 The Haunting, by SunshineShelle

via

My poetry writing journey didn’t start very long ago. Go ahead; this is the time when you say things like, “Really? Wow! But you are so good.” I’ll wait… Okay, you’re so kind. *giggles*

I wrote my first poem in 2010. It wasn’t very good. The second one wasn’t much better. “Sexy, Dark and Bloody”, my third, felt different. Perhaps because its words were birthed out of hot frustration, rage and an intense desire not to punch a certain someone in the mouth.

You see, I had just submitted a short story for a fiction contest. The story won first place, but one of five judges said that “letting [me] win” the contest had been a mistake. He said this to my face, while waving a copy of my work in front of others. He was a poet. And he got very upset because I chose to paraphrase a quote from a poem he held very close to his heart. According to him, I insulted the author of the original work. Mind you, the main motif of my story had to do with the way in which time and experience can change the meaning of a word for an individual.

I wrote “Sexy, Dark and Bloody” the afternoon before the award ceremony. As the first place winner, I was given the choice to read an excerpt from my story or from any short work that fitted the allotted time. I drafted the poem a couple of hours before the reading. I was terrified because my poetry experience was nonexistent. But I was full of passion. I finished reading for the 40 or so people sitting in front of me—literature professors and students and their guests—and no one made a sound. The rib-crushing silence lasted about 30 seconds. Then someone stood up and began to applaud. Soon after that the room was as thunderous as the inside of my chest.   

I read my poem facing the poet who said I had no respect for someone else’s work, and that I shouldn’t waste my time writing about “things that weren’t real and that weren’t [mine].”

When this happened, I had no idea why I chose poetry instead of fiction to make my point. Or why the opinion of someone I didn’t particularly care about affected me so deeply. Today, I understand: I needed personal words; lines that left the lips raw and the heart sore; stanzas that told this man that I would not allow anyone—especially not a stranger—to limit my voice or the way in which I used my words. I love short fiction. Storytelling will always be my first and forever love, but in my soul poetry serves a purpose that can’t be replaced by other forms. I’m not quite sure how to explain exactly what I mean by this; not yet… maybe in another year or three.

Open Link Monday is for sharing a poetic work of your choosing, regardless of theme or format. Have fun and be free; that’s what we are here for, isn’t it? And if you have a poem that you wrote while bursting with hot emotions, I would love to read it. 

Do visit other word lovers. Read their words and leave words in kind, for “Silence is not a natural environment for stories [or for poetry]. They need words. Without them they grow pale, sicken and die. And then they haunt you.” ~ The Thirteenth Tale, by Diane Setterfield. ♥♥