This morning I was reminded of why poets are so often misunderstood. This reminder came in the form of an innocent enough social media post where I shared the following words:

These are sentiments of a feeling I had for one single second – no longer than the blink of an eye or an intake of breath.  The feeling surfaced. Followed by the awareness. Then I wrote about it. I felt it for a few more moments. Then it was gone. I didn’t dwell on it. I didn’t wallow in it. I didn’t self-flagellate over it. I felt it. I gave it a name. I gave the name a form.  Then it was done.

But that was not how social media understood it. Many took my sharing to mean I was feeling badly or depressed. Some thought I was sad or hurting. Others shared words of comfort or support.  I’m grateful for the expressions of support, but in that moment, I was really and truly fine. I was no longer feeling the feelings that sought form through my words. Perhaps these expressions of support were reflections of the senders’ own pain. Perhaps my words hit their own nerve. To these I offer support in return. But truly, I am fine.

Such is the life of a poet. The feelings of my words had passed. But there is truly no way for others to understand this. There is also no way that those who are not poetically inclined to understand the burning need to give expression to experience and words to what we feel. We just can’t help it.  These experiences become a burning inside that has to be released. For a poet – this release comes in the form of words. Patti Smith once said, “To be an artist is to see what others cannot.” I would suggest being a poet is to feel what others cannot and then be compelled to put that into word.

I can’t speak for other poets, but I know for myself, in addition to having no choice but to give expression to experience, I am also compelled to send it off into the world. Not because I want pity or attention, but in case there are others who have shared this experience and perhaps don’t yet have words for it, or permission to feel it. I write so others might experience validation, comfort, assent, or even consent. I hope that in sharing my words I might be giving another what they need to better know and understand themselves. For what better purpose could a poet possibly live?

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