The Wonderful Mystery of Creation

I wrote something before on the Mystery of Writing and now it's the turn of Creativity.

I'm doing this for a friend. She's far too knowledgeable to benefit from this but I just can't resist trying to be a good and helpful friend to her.

I've spent the last week reading poems of the day on various networks. Just to get a feel for how the modern poet is plying his wares. Let me say that again, I chose poetry of the day and not of yesterday. Poetry that reflects what is taught in literature classes say during the past 4, 5 or 6 years.

I usually don't read contemporary poetry as I have an idea that the poet's intent is to use words for their own sake rather than to convey substance. I kind of like substance, you see.

So I printed out ten poems, reread them several times soto voce or aloud and then discussed them with some learned friends. As a result, it was decided that I write this piece which I dedicate to my friend whether she agrees with it or not.

The problem arose when we noticed that there was a strong tendency to use esoteric words and metaphors that were as mind boggling as the Pompidou building in Paris.

That made us think about what they are teaching today. Inherent value or external effect? Where does true creativity fit in here? Immediately comes the million dollar question "so what is creativity anyway?"

NOTE: Let's make this thread very interesting. Submit your comments. Tear me apart. Carry me on your shoulders. But please join in and let's explore this theme that must be of great interest to all writers.

First of all, I don't think creativity can be taught like arithmetic. It's not a rote thing. Creativity is already there inside us inside our hearts and in our minds waiting to be noticed and used.
Modern science has recognised that the presence of serotonin, a vital neurotransmitter in the brain, that has the ability to keep one happy and in a productive frame of mind. But that's just chemistry. What is te real creativity?

I think that when God breathed atam into first man, He did not breathe in life only. No, He breathed in life plus creativity. Why else did they build those huge cities, begin talking and write that Epic of Gilgamesh?

On Thursdays, as part of my community duty, I look after a bunch of 4 to 8 year olds. We play games, act out theatre, draw and have some rather profound discussions. It's absolutely astounding what one can discuss with an 8 year old.

When I meet older youngsters I notice sometimes, a shade of withdrawal. A shift in enthusiasm. A greater interest in commonplace events and subjects. A creeping uniformity here and there.

It seems that a transformation takes place while growing up in some cases. Why? Perhaps life's lessons, disciplines, bad experiences or whatever make the person forget the awesome power of creativity that it had at eight.

So in my humble opinion, it's every teacher's duty to unlock that kaleidoscope of colours and that Vesuvius of sparkling ideas that are there for the taking. Not teach. Just discover and unlock.
The teacher needn't tell the scholar how to write a poem. After all they were doing wonderfully when they were eight. Not so?

Ah the teacher. She (or he) must strip away layer after layer of social deposit and she must not do it pedagogically. No no. No rules. No rotes. They're no soldiers going to battle. They're going to become free thinkers while in your care. Yes Ma'am.
Some of the poetry that I read this week would stop an embryo poet dead in his tracks. OK I admit. That's an exaggeration but you know what I mean.

I'd begin by asking them who they are without the dark glasses, cap, scarf, frequent giggles and the whole pasted on social veneer.
I'd talk about the mystery of life and the essence of love. I'd go into the wood with my class and ask them what stops them from flying. I'd stay with this subject for a while until the silliness wears off.

I'd ask them to think about the bands around their hearts and how to bust them open.

I'd tell them that I'd had lunch with the President of India (true) and what would they have said if it had been them?
I'd tell them that I had had dinner with a French Duchess (true) and as I had poked at a potato it had hopped out of my plate into hers. I'd ask them what they have said under those circumstances?

I'd ask them to tell me what's right there in the centre of their hearts and what use it is if they don't use it? I'd even climb up a tree and ask them to think of reasons why I did it.

Then I would make a roaring fire and then look at each of the ten poems one by one. I subject them to the test of superfluous use of multi-syllabled latin-cyrrilic words as well as whether the poem had depth. Meaning and a ability to make you weep or dance.

As they failed this test I would dramatically drop them into the fire.

Following that I would take my class to a gliding school and let each one go up in the air. We'd huddle in the waiting room and I'd ask them "what did you feel?", "what did the silence do for you?" "what did the weightlessness do for you?" "how did you feel when you saw an eagle flying next to you?"

To experience life one must not only be able to read poetry but one should be able to live poetry. More than that, to teach poetry you'll have to know the full extent of emotions. You'll have to first discover who you really are?

"Where is my place in this world? Where am I going? Do I really know what love is? Have I ached to touch the hand of a stranger? Have I ever shared an aura with someone else? Have I ever felt an unbearable agony of longing?"

I share the sentiments of that movie "Dead Poets Society." Teachers should see it at least once.
I remember some of my teachers. And I will do so forever. I know that when I looked at them I looked at real life. Somehow, because of that, I did my damndest to get high marks in their subjects.

All of this has come straight from my heart. I could not do more.

If you disagree then let the debate begin.