June 25, 2012 by Erin

Soliloquy

I’m not a poet, but I wish I were. Over the years I’ve mainly stuck to essay-style prose, because, frankly, it’s what I’m good at. It’s also easier. And safer. Most people judge an essay or article primarily by its content. As long as you have something worthwhile to say, you won’t necessarily fall flat on your face just because you’re not Wordsworth. Not that an essay shouldn’t be artful or beautiful, because I believe it should. It’s just that most people don’t judge that sort of writing as harshly.

Poetry is different. By definition, it draws attention to the words themselves — which words the poet uses, how they sound, how they play off one another. A poem has not only content, but form. It has to both mean and be. In short, you can say something great, but if your writing sucks, everyone knows. And you get laughed at. I don’t like being laughed at, so I have stayed away from poetry.

I’ve wanted to be a poet, though, because sometimes only poetry can say what needs to be said. So, today, I’m revealing a secret. My dear friend Amy gave me a beautiful writing journal, and in odd moments for the last year I’ve been scribbling what might be called lyrical prose. Almost poetry.

In these pieces, I’m using no rhythm, no rhyme, and very few other poetic devices. I guess I could just insert arbitrary line breaks and call it “free verse,” but that feels like cheating. They’re mostly internal musings, which is why I’m titling these posts Soliloquy. Most of them, I assure you, are terrible, and they will not appear on this blog. But I’ve written a few I like enough to bring out of the journal. So, without further ado, and before I lose my nerve, I give you a short piece I wrote this spring:

“Dusk”

I have no words for the pleasant half-light of my living room at dusk. Open windows bring the breeze and the crickets, the last birds of the evening reminding me it’s time to settle down. It’s uncanny how the day room and the night room are not the same room. Sun light and lamp light cast altogether different shadows on the walls, and now the space is soft and still. The quiet reaches my chest, and its rise and fall calms in sync with the slow fading of day.