So the other day I did something, which i’m sure most people do. I did a search of my name in Google and discovered the strangest things about myself.
Firstly, and sadly I discovered that I am not sole bearer of the name Msughter (pronounced ‘Sue-tay’) in this world; a fact I didn’t loose sleep over because I still hold the title of the coolest (read: sexiest) person bearing that name.
Secondly, I discovered that I might be considered a proper freelance journalist now due to the top searches of my name. After the Facebook and twitter pages, the few articles I’ve excreted on the internet can be found scattered haphazardly. Yay me -___-.
Finally, and most interestingly, I discovered something that took me on a nostalgic trip. I stumbled upon evidence of my brief and intense flirtation with poetry.
Now this isn’t something I tried to keep away from the world or myself, not by any means. As a matter of fact I still gloat about my amateur poetry when i’m in the mood to play the role of the sensitive guy.
Trust me and hold these words dear; when used in proper proportions and delivered with conviction, sensitivity serves as a strong strategy against any girls.
Also, as a rapper, I still view myself as a poet albeit a practitioner of a different, chaotic and not generally accepted style of poetry.
That, however, is a debate on its own that I might revisit in the future.
Deep in the Google search labyrinth, in an enclosed pocket of space I have seldom visited - translation: the 2nd page of the Google search results - I discovered a poem I had written ages ago and given a friend to put up on his blog.
A feeling of loss erupted inside me, which is normal because nostalgia is an emotion birth from loss or longing.
In my case, this loss was as as a result of the realization that I no longer understood this style of poetry. I was staring at the page and my words made perfect sense to me but my mind had so departed from this ‘meta' type of thinking that it felt like a different person had versed those word.
Meta-language is defined as any language that can be used to describe another language or system of symbols. This is exactly how the poetic mind works, making poetry an art form distant from most observers because poets use a completely different language every single time a poem is scribbled.
The poetic method, most of the time, is to describe ideas and emotions with language that appears to be completely disconnected from the subject. Language of the same dialect but of a higher meaning.
The poetic mind reaches a conclusion that every word is completely abstract and that as controllers of meaning, we have the power to stuff these words with whatever we want and create new modes of communicating familiar ideas.
Fascinating stuff but you can see where the difficulty for most readers arises. Every poem is, intrinsically, a new language.
Readers cannot be - and are not - expected to automatically understand every new mode of language poets spurt.
This is where complexity of language comes to play. Some poems stick closer to our normal mode of communication and meaning making.
Others stretch and tear all boundaries of meaning and turn every word and character we understand upside down. Some would argue that in this dissociation from normal language, we find the real technique in poetry.
I reserve my thoughts on that.
So it remains that a lot of poems can only be explained by the author because each poem is a language of their making.
In writing these words I can understand the frustration of the poet.
I find describing this subject difficult because if feels like the language I am using is not equipped to explain my idea. Why not create a completely new language from this language that I feel would be suitable to carry my thoughts?
Anyways, this is the poem I found on my friend Walter Akpedeye’s blog. The original post can still be found on his blog, The Gauthier Effect.
It was titled wild and the language I created is a basic one and the meaning should be fairly easy to understand.
Fluid body distortions
Obscene volumes of organised sound
The freedom of feel