My poetry lacks, and I think I unraveled part of the riddle this afternoon. Ultimately, I am a scientist, not a poet. In English today, we discussed connotative words versus denotative words. I tend to use denotative words. I describe things in terms of form and function, I use plain descriptive language and I tend to use communication as a tool, not as a toy. My style lends itself well to prose, but leaves poetry flat and dull. I write objectively; poetry is subjective.
I wonder how much of this shaping of my personality is my own fault. I’ve spent so long working to ensure that I am not ruled by my emotions that I think they’ve all but disappeared. I’ve rebelled against them so long that my life is based more on that rebellion than anything else. Garrison Keillor wrote of a similar concept in the “95 Theses 95” footnote in his novel _Lake_Wobegone_Days_. “75. I wasted years in diametrical opposition, thinking you were completely mistaken, and wound up living a life based more on yours than if I’d stayed home.” How true, how true.
So. As I asked last week in a rambling on a similar topic, where do I go from here?