Truth or cover story?
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| Image: Created by Marilyn Glover with Canva Design |
Early this morning, at 7 am, episode 9 of my Jungian-themed poetry podcast aired on Substack. Currently, I am on the ninth week of my 15-week journey exploring the poems from the June release of my chapbook, Shadow's Reprieve. Recently, I decided that Substack would be the home for the spoken word— the oration version of my lyrics— and this blog would dive into the meaning behind those words.
And so it is.
Today's poem, "Haunted Lesson (Reading the Text)", focuses on Carl Jung's shadow archetype and speaks of a writer whose creative process is hindered by the pressure to please. Of course, a writer wants an audience, but is there a line between entertaining simply to please and the wordsmith's need for artistic control?
What if the entertainer isn't entertaining his/her creative preferences?
What if the writer writes solely to please societal expectations or appease popular consensus, ignoring his/her unique contribution to the literary world?
What happens when the written word feels unlike one's genuine own?
Might the writer feel like their very own words are nothing more than a cover story?
Haunted Lesson (Reading the Text)
My own writing makes no sense; how can this be
Prolific prose, poetry
Word art meant to uplift
Inspire readers
Leaves me holding my breath
Crafted with care; articulation precision
But it’s not my truth–
A cover story
I want to exhale, pen-flow my honesty
Script the art of heart
Mine
Fear binds me
Nagging me to write to please
Satisfy a collective longing
What do readers want
Point of sale
Soothing
Yet, my own words
Haunt me
Write truthfully; first-person perspective
Gritty, raw, unforgiving
Not so pretty
Not so nice
Cruelty at its finest
Eyestrain, hurt
Curt, provoking
Read back; reflective feedback
Good, bad, ugly; naught
My truth confined
Literal ghosts
Verse 1 outlines the writer's recognition that although their words are carefully crafted, they fall short of personal artistry. The writing leaves much to be personally desired, lacking the extra something called unique contribution. It's the moment when writing's truth reveals that the process isn't completely genuine; it's a version, someone else's.
Verse 2 professes the writer's need to pen-flow their honesty, but fear sets in. Internal conflict questions which literary perspective will soothe the collective, while words left unsaid— the nitty-gritty, as I like to call it— haunt the creator's thinking, making the writer's dream feel more like a nightmare.
Verse 3 continues the writer's internal back-and-forth, reading his own published words. A read-back provides reflective feedback and a truth revealed: his words are confined, literal ghosts.
I wrote Haunted Lesson (Reading the Text) not only to explore how I show up as a writer, specifically a poet, but to allow the reader to analyze how they use their voice.
Do you speak your truth, no matter how uncomfortable it may be?
Do you hush that truth to appease others?
Are unspoken words haunting you?
Does the haunting indicate you've been living a cover-story version of yourself?
If so, maybe it's time to dig deeper and read the text, the internal text waiting to take shape in your outer world.
Like to give the poem a listen?
Please join me every Wednesday when I read another poem from Shadow's Reprieve.
Here is the link to today's episode, free on Substack.
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