Poetry, In Motion

So far, I've had some good days. I've had some bad days. During the bad ones I've retorted to different things at different points of time. Sometimes it would be music. Sometimes it would be writing. And a lot of times "looking" into myself.

In the recent past, I've a new found interest in poetry. Yes, you read it right!
Poetry stuck a chord with me when I was listening to a U2 song which had some beautiful lines at the end. It was actually form a lovely poem penned by Rushdie.
Galvanized by this power of phrase and conversations with a friend who is "qualified" to speak about it, I've started exploring poets from the times of the "Romantic Movement" like Keats to the 20th century like Frost.

The beauty of poetry is it can be interpreted in 100 different ways by 100 different people. For example, white is interpreted as death personified by one and could be interpreted as the a symbol of peace by the other. Of course, sometimes its contextual.

Most of the poets start very young. Like Keats, who wrote most of his significant poems even before he was 24! Truly, "a thing of beauty is a joy forever". And his greatest ambition was to be "among the English Poets".

Let me quote a couple of lines from one of my favorites of Blake, The Chimney Sweeper.
And because I am happy & dance & sing, They think they have done me no injury.
I wonder where they draw their inspiration from. Is it their power of observation or introspection or were they just born to write?
Reading some of the poems of Keats, Blake et al, I'm startled by their power to move me, at my own amazement in the presence of their intelligence, craft and charm.