Greener grass

[hmmnmm]

This is something that's bugged me, been on my mind, wondering why, and bijou's Sound thread got me thinking on it doubly hard. This is written with me in mind, but I must not be alone in this dilemma, so if you can relate, all the better.

I love music. All kinds, all styles, all kinds of sounds, and I play some guitar but I'm not a great guitarist. I've written songs, but it's been years (about a dozen) since the last one. I think if I got back on it, I could write some decent stuff, even though I'm no great singer (all bad singers should give thanks to the Bob Dylans and Lou Reeds). I know I'm better with words but I'm more attracted to guitars.

I never really 'studied' poetry, you know - probably shows (the brief sonnet stuff last summer excepted). I don't spend more than two or three days on a piece before I abandon it or say, 'hm, that looks good' and sometimes throw them out and if they survive or otherwise, whatever. Sometimes I start with a clear idea, sometimes a less clear idea, sometimes it's just a whole barrel of fun to play with syllables and sounds, never minding any obvious meaning at all - or sometimes meaning becomes clearer after it's written.

If I spent one year seriously studying the guitar and music, the year's end might show improvement, but it will be slight. The same year spent in diligent study of poetry would produce far greater improvement.

I guess the point of this: why do we tend to discount that which we are better suited and reach for the more elusive? Or why worry at all?

Or, the point really isn't expressed well.

Another coffee or two and maybe try again.

 

[RoniB]

shadow

 

[hmmnmm]

Well dear Roni,
you bring up prose, which reminds me: the differences between prose and poetry have been discussed a'plenty before, and here's my answer: prose is a labor, makes the brain ache and sweat, and eyes blur. Poetry is a warm thrill, a rejuvenation, a joy, an excitement.
But - if the music door is cracked just a bit, and I look and go in, I'm completely lost in that universe of sounds and endless possibilities. And I can't quit it. Can't put it down. When I do finally put it down, the result will still be... so so, okay, but not much more progressed than before entering the lost universe of music. Had that lost time been spent with a notebook and pen, a couple worthy poetic pieces may have come to be.
And again (it always happens this way) - there is no real answer to this, but just the act of writing it and expressing it, seems to be an ointment that makes the worry drift away.