WORD OF HONOR
July 1, 2007
Our words are weapon: This is an adage that every writer has to forge with fire, leaving an imprint right into his or her heart. It is a primal wisdom inherited from the earliest scribes, even from the most honorable of minstrels and bards. It is one thing to cast words into stone, but mouthing the language of the eternal wind is quite another. It is like co-writing the story of the universe. That is why languages, regardless of race, faithfully capture the sound of its geography, recording the memory of its culture and people. In essence, every word is simply a human attempt to encasque meaning into the limited modality of syllables and phonetics. All language therefore is poetic.
The poet then is the legislator of the human experience. He must be honorable, honest and incorruptible. He says what cannot be said and unsays what is deemed commonplace in the everyday interrogative relation between self and other, self and nature. Some say that being called to be a poet is a malady and that one must avoid it at all cost. This is not because poetry is filled with suffering, no, but because its practitioners have great and irreversible responsibility. A real poet cannot, in good conscience just stop responding to the call of the muse or be absorbed by bureaucracy and sell his or her honor and art.
When a poet becomes a liar, he/she digs his/her own grave. He/she ceases to become immortal and joins the lineage of the damned.