The benefits of Poetry; A Note by the Editor
Unlike novels, magazine articles, or essays, a poem is arguably more akin to a painting or a song than a literary piece. This is because a poem is a complex, often rather brief, expression that creates an instantaneous image within the reader’s mind and a rhythmical sound when read aloud. Yet poetry seldom features within the media. For our smart phones, televisions, and magazines must be packed with non-stop imagery and punchy headlines to be enjoyed – right?
Well, not entirely. Of course, vibrant photographs and videos are marvellous stimulants, but are they as beneficial for our mental health as the likes of literature? For if we take the time to absorb, ponder and question the literary information in front of us, then our mind soon begins to create a variety of depictions. After all, the word ‘imagination’ comes from the fact that our brains transform our thoughts into images. Indeed, it is little coincidence that so many psychologists believe reading to have such a positive impact upon not only our intelligence but our mental wellbeing.
On a personal note, my belief in the power of literature as well as art is the reason I continue to use two-columns in the magazine rather than the typical three columns you normally get. It is also why I have decided to expand upon Art Etc.’s poetry section. For whilst a poem may appear to be a literary piece at first, it needs to be properly read for its artistic qualities to be realised.
‘Catatumbo Symphony’, Daniel Moreschi
As sunset paints a stage at the unwieldy mouth of Maracaibo Lake, sporadic breezes leadthe water’s surface, stirring swirls among the reeds,
creating shimmered mirrors that reflect a shroud
of grey, covertly brimming overhead. Though veiled, the Andes loom like silent giants, bearing witness to where tones of wind-kept whispers linger; stillness
fractured by intensified caresses, trailed
from swell-bound blusters. Rustles rattle, ripples race and flits of wings resound in flurries, just as makeshift herds
of varied species—not knowing where or when to turn—assail reluctant paths. Their scrambled scansion breaks
with strides aligned; the animals encircle ways, as if beset by their own shrinking shadows. Amid the flicker of a dazzling zigzag, steps go still, then all that can retreat is routed by a wave
of distant thrums: a rat-a-tat of crackling claps and loops of charge-lit choreographies unite,as both composer and conductor of the night. These streaks of sheets unfold in sequences. They wrap
around the clouds in branching arcs. Each flash commands its own embodied image in the waters. Tempos alter, lightning extends; crescendos bellow: echoes of this dance reverberate across the land.
The floors unravel, flora tumbles, trees are traced along a pass of peaks, while hillsides silhouette. A dozen hours advance. Between the thunder’s threads
and sections, interludes of silence find their place.
The fervour softens, outros pour and lapses grow; once-restless skies inhale and sigh. As dawn appears, the marsh is held by restful air; horizons clear
as currents fall and curtains rise to end the show.
'Some things...', Dan Husband
Some things are black and white -
most things are not.
In some decisions the grey matter abounds and grey are the clouds above the clouded thoughts. Shrouded in the trivialities, the minutiae and the wherefores. The whos, whats, hows, whens and whys.
The fond farewells or beleaguered goodbyes.
Standing in parallel, the truth shares a garden fence with the lies. I don’t deny seeing things this way, the air is cloying as if breathing surrounded by smoke, the truth is suspended from a limb with a rope, the lies suffered an overdosed suicide, guilt from every tale that was spun to keep some vainest hope of truth alive.
Monochromatic ideals steal all the colour from the world.
As the black and the white fight for power in every decision I make and story I hear...
I stare off through pupils surrounded by glaucous irises, into a horizon, which was watercoloured Gainsboro.
Some things are black and white... but most things are not –
'Zebra Crossing', A.J Kristian
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