These Days (a found poem)
These days, far too many whom we have admired
have proven to be bad.
We are all complicated individuals...
If I were to dismiss every piece of art
because of something in the artist's life that is/was
inexcusable,
then,
I fear,
art would not be something I could partake in.
If I don't know the inexcusable now,
I may find out about it later.
I think this discussion needs to be continued.
It has my head spinning.
We are all complicated individuals...
Yes, we can mourn and miss the good
that coexists with bad
inside a complicated person.
I think it is important to acknowledge and recognize both
even though it is hard to do.
We are all complicated individuals...
Quite often,
is it not the case,
the real art comes from the troubled places in us?
And sometimes from the troubled among us,
who are blown about by unseemly urges,
who feel so out of the ordinary stream
that they lose sight of the channeling banks?
We need not excuse the wrong-doing to be touched by the art.
We are all complicated individuals...
I don't know that to do with the bad and good,
except love people for who they are.
Help them achieve better than they did before.
We can't cut people out of the herd and consider our jobs
done.
If trees fall, we make furniture.
When a forest burns, new seeds take root.
When our idols fall,
perhaps they will rise again
as mere people.
©Mary Lee Hahn, 2018
This is a poem I found in the comments on
last week's Poetry Friday post. I created it in appreciation for your thoughtful responses to my lament about the loss of the Writer's Almanac. They were just to good to leave in the comment boxes!
(Thanks, also, for all of the writing encouragement!)
Liz has today's Poetry Friday Roundup at
Elizabeth Steinglass.
