ESSAYS ARCHIVE

If you are to ask: "are you a poet or an essayist?", I would respond that I am an essayist. It is not that I do not write poetry—indeed I do—it is that the terrains are separate. There are many poets. Indeed, there are many who write poetry and do not consider themselves poets, just as there are poets who do not write poetry. The issue is at the level of discernment. There are many people who write poetry, but reading poetry is even harder, for the combined lawlessness with the claustrophobia of the medium means that superior discernment is required while reading, since superior poetry is extremely difficult to tell from mediocre poetry. Only a great poet can truly discern great poetry. In addition, poets and readers who think in different ways and grammars may incur an entire lack of understanding, missing the mark entirely. Esotericism is only a game to be played with those who hold a portion of the knowledge. Poetry operates with ultimate subtlety. Blunt poetry is unpoetic, superior poetry is superior with context. On the other hand, essays are open and without limits, although the medium is less creative in form. The essayist wants to beat their essay over the head of their audience, shooting their theses with explosive powder shots towards readers. Poetry must work with the reader engaging with it—there is only that which is excavated, which means that superior poetry requires superior excavators. However, even laymen can identify a sharp essayist. Even if it is impenetrable to a reader, logic and thoughtful form have their aesthetic qualities. To tell a secret, essays are poetry in their own right to me. There is ecstasy in embedding poetic registers in essays, which accentuate points and perfect the ascent of the argument—that ideal mountaintop of ontology wherein the claim maps the terrain of the world, and it is the similar ideal of the aestheticist to contour such a world with their rich imagery and fragrant expression. Poetry works best with commentary, so it is the most superior for the poet to write their own commentary alongside the poem. The greatest philosopher of all time is but a nonsensical dreamer if their thoughts are solely rendered in poetry. Poetry is always esoteric; it is a secret to be shared between those of great pedigree and construct. This is not to suggest that there are none who can ascertain superior thought in poetry, but I possess a strong predisposition against gambles. My thoughts are born from the sea foam dreams of halls of poets and philosophers—perhaps none will ever truly understand my poems. Poetry is a delicate tea; essays are a stronger sort of drink—brewed for the purpose of hitting those in its vicinity with the potency of its fumes. The issue is the problem of control. Poetry is vulnerability—a gamble both with the reader and with fate, for poetry incurs humbleness just as much as the inverse.

If you are to ask: "are you a poet or an essayist?", I would respond that I am an essayist. This is perhaps due to a propensity towards humility on my part. Poetry has an assumption of value and skill, which I would perhaps find unbecoming to brazenly assert that I possess. Indeed, in my spare time I arrange some words on paper on occasion, but it is your discretion to determine what to make of it. Essays, on the other hand, are sharp in their own right. The poet is a boxer, the essayist is a fencer. No matter the agent in either case, if the fencer's épée is sufficiently sharp at the point, then it becomes operative in its own right—even in its owner's repose it still must be dealt with if it is positioned outwards. This is the dichotomy of explicit and implicit confidence. I will make no statements regarding my ability as a writer in this work, but to extend my impertinence further than I would like to have dared—I suggest that it is sufficient to ask about the conditions surrounding its authorship. Indeed, this essay is an essay—its quality is at your discretion. However, you must contend with the essay. Poetry is an ideal—the highest insult of any instance would be to suggest that it is not poetic. Poetry is a free medium; essays are stricter in form—you will always know that one is such. I have already stated above that there is often poetry composed by those who are not poets, who had not sought out to write poetry. This is because poetry is an ideal—an aesthetic and semiotic form. Perhaps this is the greatest form of poetry there is—that which attains the ideal effortlessly. Forced poetry is often the worst kind. That is why I am firstly an essayist, a medium which requires no ideals but can host them fantastically. I still possess a poetic drive, but I almost solely write poetry in its traditional, standalone form only when such verses burn so vigorously and spontaneously within my heart-mind that I cannot stand but to write them down. Ideals are not to be trifled with, so poetry must be regarded as a sacred endeavor. However, those who hold ideals in their hearts see them manifested in everything. The illustrator marvels at the lines and angles of buildings, the musician is overjoyed at the harmony of birdsongs. When it comes that I read back through my essays after their completion, I tend to find myself not focusing above all on the direct procession of the arguments but rather fixating on the quality and verse of the sentences. However, the craving for control permeates the process of creation. I am an essayist because I have points that I want to make, and I present them within essays because I believe them to be the most potent form. Yet, poetry carries within it the ability to incur understanding via a more profound form of contemplation. Still, one must relinquish themselves to poetry to be called a poet, and I am pitifully bound to writing essays. However, the world is never without appearances, and superior discernment can always draw from the depths of water, no matter the murkiness, the brilliant light sunken within it. If you are to ask: "are you a poet or an essayist?", I would respond that I am an essayist. This is because, like every esotericist, I am a liar.