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No,
the poet is not always
the bringer of light!
he can also bring
darkness, hatred, and pain.
he can sing of evil and ugliness.
the poet knows how to squeeze out tears
and smear blood into your eyes.
from his nails, claws can grow
and from his teeth, fangs.
on his forehead, horns he could place
if ever needed.
No,
the poet is not necessarily
dressed in white garments.
he can pass through naked
and laugh madly in hysterics!
and if you strike him,
he will not always
turn the other cheek.
No,
the poet is no angel!
he is a wound—always bleeding—
on the sick heart of the World
and the sleepless eye on Its forehead,
the unforeseen eye.
This poem was originally written in Romanian.

Analysis of "No! The Poet"

Theme:
The poem challenges romanticized notions of poets as solely virtuous and enlightened figures, presenting a darker, multifaceted portrayal instead. The poet becomes a vessel for light and shadow, capable of evoking beauty and ugliness, healing and harm. This duality emphasizes the raw and unpredictable power of art and the humanity of its creator.

Tone and Structure:
The tone is defiant and provocative, confronting the reader’s expectations with stark negations. The repeated "No" asserts the rejection of traditional archetypes and sets the poem’s rhythm. The structure, with its free verse and escalating intensity, mirrors the chaotic, untamed energy of the poet described within.

Imagery and Meaning:

The Poet as a Creator of Duality:

"The poet is not always the bringer of light! / he can also bring darkness, hatred, and pain."
The poet is portrayed as a figure who embodies and expresses the full spectrum of human experience unbound by societal ideals of purity or enlightenment.
This duality challenges the reader to see poetry as more than a tool for comfort or beauty.

Violent and Monstrous Metaphors:

"From his nails, claws can grow / and from his teeth, fangs. / On his forehead, horns he could place."
The poet is likened to a beast or demon, underscoring creativity's primal, untamed nature. Poetry here is not sanitized but raw and visceral.
These images emphasize that poets may disturb or unsettle as much as they inspire.

Human Vulnerability:

"He is a wound—always bleeding— / on the sick heart of the World."
The poet is presented as deeply empathetic, absorbing and reflecting the world’s pain.
This wound symbolizes the poet's role as a witness and participant in humanity’s suffering.

The Unforeseen Eye:

"The sleepless eye on Its forehead, / the unforeseen eye."
The poet becomes a seer, perceiving and revealing truths that others cannot or will not see.
This suggests a sense of duty or burden, as the poet remains ever-watchful and aware.

Message:
The poem asserts that poets are not merely idealistic figures of inspiration but complex beings who confront the full spectrum of life’s darkness and light. They wield their art as both a weapon and a balm, embodying truth's chaotic, painful, and transformative power. The poet’s role is to provoke, unsettle, and challenge while carrying the weight of the world’s wounds.

Conclusion:
"No! The Poet" is a bold and courageous portrayal of the poet as a figure of duality—creator and destroyer, angel and beast, healer and wound. By rejecting conventional expectations, the poem forces readers to reconsider the nature of art and its creators, emphasizing the poet's raw humanity and limitless potential. It is a celebration of poetry’s ability to confront the sublime and the grotesque, offering a vision of art as both a mirror and a force of transformation.
Abner Ros Nov 2020
I
Whether inner or outer, the matter is naught
Many sought after what cannot be bought
Though heart and mind is where it all lies
An impeccable vision beyond your mere eyes.
  
The signature mark of human kind
Dream and reality all intertwined
Cold as ice, hot as raw fire
Grand aesthetic for all to admire –

Seldom achieved, unable to build
Quenches all thirst, all hungers fulfilled
With all imperfections, itself so flawless
Rules are negated; thus, it remains lawless

Greatest of weapons bound by no defence
For it may be subtle, yet so intense
Partnered with love, a potent ideal
Beauty will call, no need to conceal.

II
Silence lay steadily against the barren walls
Aging wood, icy stone
An empty carcass rotting away
Unable to feel or be felt
                        Allowing nothing in or out
Though a poison seeps within its walls
Changing it, from what it was once before
Now wearing a mask as if to disguise,
                   The unseen horrors lurking inside
Goblins and ghouls are the least of your worry
For what lies inside is far more heinous
Beauty’s opposition, readily awaits
No longer a guise hiding the truth -
Reality is met with eager eyes
A stammering figure soundlessly screaming  
Hauling chains and a mirror of lies,
Though not evil, a choice in itself
                   Ugliness within can often be mended.
Raven Blue Jul 2020
Every time I look at my mirror;
I can't clearly see myself.
I can only see a vague figure.
Every time I look at other people's mirror;
I can clearly see myself.
Yes, I can see myself.
I can see an ugly person with lots of scar.
And because of those scars;
I can't become a star.
And because I can't become a star;
I want to forget myself.
And maybe that's the reason why I can't clearly see myself in my mirror.
Slit the veins of truth,
see all of our ugliness
spill from this society.

That stole my youth,
as darkness hit my eyes
with fear and anxiety.

Please end all of this grief
and let's show loveliness,
maybe live in coalescence.

Our lives are rather brief
so can't we all be allies,
Isn't love life's essence?
Sharon Talbot May 2020
Another sunset spans the sky
Deserting its view of shambled streets,
Fleeing the dark silhouettes and wires pierced high.
On feathered wings it fades and bids good-bye.

What a reminder is sent to us each day,
As sweeping clouds look down before dying,
That beyond this desolation, they still will stay;
No human form can stop their flying.

The eye is jarred by every scene,
In which the darkening hulks arise,
And yet are conquered by the sky, it seems;
We are left to dwell below; to guard this prize.

Who, staring aloft, would never desire,
To rise up and dwell among the splendor,
Rather than stay below in tangled squalor?
Yet we must be content with remembered fire.

(Not finished)
This was based on a walk I took on a December evening, along with some great photos of the cirrus clouds and twilight. The buildings in town were all silhouetted black against the sky, emphasizing its beauty.
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