Catharsis and Hamartia

At 9:00 pm today, results of Wing word poetry prize was announced. I had sent in what I considered three of my best works - Drapetomani, Human and Winds. I didn't win or make it to honorary mentions even.

I scrolled and scrolled again, just to be sure you know. (Like that would magically put my name on the list)

Next few minutes, I gulped down dinner hardly registering what am eating ( those close to me would know that's saying a lot my fastidiousness considered) , digestive system busy doing it's thang. The human body is thing of beauty, no ? Imagine having to consciously chew, forcefully swallow AND deal with an emotional breakdown at the same time.

Staring at my favourite ice cream, I swirl the spoon till it (the ice cream) is liquefied. My mom had to intervene with her consolation and reassurance but those tears came down like a downpour on a summer evening, a necessary relief from the heat.

Why am I being such a baby about one silly competition ?
Frustration and desperation are an artist's accessories.
So why ?
I started a blog almost three years back and although I hadn't expected a large reading audience , I was disappointed. I started a Facebook page and that didn't do too well either. I absolutely hate having to advertise my work like hey you guys...I write...read my writings maybe ?
I wrote a few microtales for Terribly tiny tales and Scribbled stories when they called for writers, but didn't make it again.
Am I seeking validation? I don't know.
Recognition ? Yes.
I have although had a few readers get back to me with humbling messages and for those words of appreciation, I will be continue to be grateful.

So when the Wing word poetry prize came along, I was thrilled. They had a panel of judges and though it was held by a slam poetry community ( my poems don't fall under slam poetry) , I had all my hopes pinned on Drapetomani.
Cause that poem took me months and multiple sittings and lot of changes from the original thought that sparked the genesis of the idea for that poem.
I had dreamt about it while sitting in class, zoning out on a lecture.
I read the winning poem and my heart sank.
In the most modest way possible, mine was better, way better.
I guess I had seen this competition as opportunity to evaluate the poet in me. And who am I to do that ?

What really irks me lately is artists can no longer be reclusive, weird, living on the outlines of society, mysterious, indifferent. We are to be out going and shamelessly prompting ourselves for the fear of being left out. People string together a couple of words on their most recent breakup and call themselves poets. The same reiterated love stories get thousands of likes. Everything has to be a certain way to become popular. It must be easy to understand. Cause ofcourse I don't wanna break my head over metaphors and meanings and figures of speech. And no complex vocabulary please. It puts me off.


To paraphrase the character Celine from Before Sunrise " I always feel this pressure of being a strong and independent icon of womanhood, and without making it look my whole life is revolving around some guy. But loving someone, and being loved means so much to me. We always make fun of it and stuff. But isn't everything we do in life a way to be loved a little more?" 

I don't know about love, but I think we could do with being understood a little more.

Well, this post has no well thought structure or theme and am just rambling and stuff.
Am not going to apologize since writing to me is a vent and I have nowhere else to turn to calm the storm.

I have half the mind to not publish this but eh whatever.

PS: This Blogpost is named after an incomplete artwork.