On to Art.....Yes

And so yes, on to art.

“To create art is to define experience.” If you will excuse my ramblings, I would like to explore the idea a little more, along with the beautiful opening line of your poem, which I believe reads “Ya no te amo, queridísimo.” I cannot fathom an English translation that would capture the paradox quite so completely. Well done!

I appreciate your definition of art. It implies that one must, from time to time, “go over the wall”, and then struggle to define what occurred, which then allows for the creation of art from the experience. By discomfiting our lives, we actually live.

One of my favorite poems is Alastair Reid’s Curiosity, where he explores the same idea. He actually termed “going over the wall” as “paying the cat price”, which I think is brilliant. “Pay the cat price, which is to die and die again and again, each time with no less pain.” After we return from over the wall, after we have died, and still hope yet to die again, then we can assess, and make bold proclamations such as “Te quiero, ya soltero, mucho mas que juntos.” And the whole world (or at least those who have paid the cat price) understands your definition of the experience.

But of course, each death, each time we die, is not really a death, but rather, an opportunity to create art. By that I mean, if we gain experience, and then struggle to find the medium through which we will define the event and hopefully convey the experience to others, art is the result. In the struggle to connect what is internal with that which is external, we craft a narrative, an approximation, of what it is to live, to experience, and if done well, the end result is art.

In closing I leave you with Neruda. I am particularly moved by the last stanza, and the idea that love is really selfish and self centered and egotistical, and we humans (or maybe just human me) find it easier to love someone who isn't there, (or is present but, unmoving and quiet), because we (I) can then project into the quiet space what we (I) want the lover to be feeling. “Yo quiero escuchar tu adios.” Yes, that is it, exactly…..And so, somewhere in all of our messy human existence, we struggle to give definition to what is happening, and from time to time we come across something that captures and conveys this peculiar existence back to us in a way that we recognize as life defined – in other words Art.

"Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente,
y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca.
Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado
y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca.

Como todas las cosas están llenas de mi alma
emerges de las cosas, llena del alma mía.
Mariposa de sueño, te pareces a mi alma,
y te pareces a la palabra melancolía.

Me gustas cuando callas y estás como distante.
Y estás como quejándote, mariposa en arrullo.
Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza:
Déjame que me calle con el silencio tuyo.

Déjame que te hable también con tu silencio
claro como una lámpara, simple como un anillo.
Eres como la noche, callada y constelada.
Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo.

Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente.
Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto.
Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan.
Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto."

Your thoughts?