The art of poem composing, from ages has been surrounded by misconceptional representations. The composing of a poem is definitely a form of art but its repeated connection with the unknown forms of motivation and paranormal driving forces is an unattended and overlooked white lie carried on for ages.
Sticking to the age old theories we will define this procedure as a spontaneously overflowing shoal of emotional reflections, which en route to the paper covers corresponding segment of the beholders heart and his correlated memories in that consent.
The theory hails that the poets as ever ready, immensely potential mortals having a vivacious arsenal of artistic fervour. But it isn’t so. In most cases the poets are self-centered people with a never dying penchant for appreciation who are either unsuccessful at the personal level or career level.
The formation of a poem can be a resultant of anything and seldom its caused by the one we know. The flowery stories of a poet carrying his pen and paper along with his shattered heart or boggling revolutionary mind or his never dying quest for nature, sitting below the bowing branches of a tree and overlooking spotless pastures. And after some time when the sun goes down the horizon carrying its dying streaks is magnanimous like never before. Everything like this is a crap. Never ever I am saying that poems do not occur in that fashion.
Whenever a (“so called”) poet sits with a pen and paper let it be anywhere, his main intention is to form a rhythmic form of art which he will be storing in glossy papers and binded books so that he can demonstrate to others his intellectual depth and command over the language and gain appreciation in return. He then will connect with the matter of the poem any personal trauma or cause of jubilation to add that tint of authenticity. For an example consider the following case.
I am a 21-year-old boy in the middle of his hurdled academic career, and in the middle of nowhere on the 16th of august at 5:10 pm, I am writing this heavily philosophic matter. So what could my intentions possibly be. The same I will keep it posted somewhere or will let it bump before someone making it look it happened accidentally and I had no intentions whatsoever of showing it. Then I will accept appreciation in return if he/she does that I am happy if not I wont be happy but to cover up a king size ego I will say something that will represent me least interested in any kind of applause in return.
This is human psychology and there is nothing poesy about it.
Subhashish Bhattacharyya
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