Hermann Hesse once wrote, “Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately after they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish.” In this respect, no emotion is truly communicable, no thought truly understood. For we cannot translate true anger into words; nor can words, as the old adage goes, express how much one loves another.

But from this belief springs the very idea of poetry. A visceral, pure form of communication, unhindered by the bonds of grammar or syntax, is truly the goal of any poet. Ask one sometime—he will tell you that he writes in order to express emotion! A poet arises out of someone dissatisfied with words, a person awakened to and aware of the fact that words are falsehoods, they are deceitful in their very nature.

In this light, the only “universal” language is the language of poetry. And yet, poetry itself has been tainted by human language. Petrarch’s passion, exposed in his flowing sonnets, is lost upon English readers; the lugubrious nature of Baudelaire’s lyrics is completely indiscernible to a foreign eye. And still, translations are not enough.

Every poet has attempted to break this barrier. Some have gone so far as to “modernize” poetry into images. These so-called “haikus” do not, however, move us any closer to the poetic revolution which we are awaiting. Their complete abstraction and inane meanings turn them almost into childish riddles in which repetition, palindrome, color, and simple word play become the forefront of the poetic definition.

There is a fine line between the metered rhymes which poetry is expected to be and the meaningless “haikus” which poetry has become, a line which, when followed properly, will give way to a much more intelligible and universal poem.

The best poetry is somewhere along this line. When written in this manner—not in any attempt at pedantic rhyme or abstract, “deep” meaning—poetry itself is revolutionary. Rilke, Neruda, Lorca—none follow any specific structure nor depend upon any rhyme scheme. Yet their verses are among some of the most beautiful, because in their purity, away from structure and away from randomness, they achieve a style all their own. This style gives way oftentimes to inadvertent rhyme and spontaneous meter, which in themselves are perfect, honest, and organic. And because no thought need be given to forcing these rhymes or straining for some arcane meaning, they are true to the human conscience. They are the closest expressions of the universal language that we have.

This is why I write. I strive to keep my pen along this line and by doing so I feel that I have done better than many poets who feign talent by being able to rhyme well or fit words into a formula. Anyone can count syllables, and anyone can use a rhyming dictionary. But it takes a true poet to be able to express the psyche without depending on these shallow devices.

I've finally regained access to my google account and have thus returned to my blog. That was a long, arduous month...