Why do we write poetry? Sometimes it’s because we have had our heart stomped on and need a tool to chisel it out. Sometimes it is because, through sheer joy we finally find ourselves after all these years. It is such an intimate act that it can be shared with a lover or friend, maybe even the whole world (should you be lucky enough to have that level of success). Lately however I have become disenchanted with writing due to a few choice people on social media who are, in effect, stealing people’s words, verbatim, then presenting them to a wider audience under the illusion it is their own. Bottom feeders if you like. Muggers of the arts that we strive so hard to protect with fires.
The act itself is such a dismissible one, for only a lover of the art would care. It is trivialised and looked over, for it is not a diamond ring or a car someone has broken into. I say it is something more soul destroying. For what is more personal than the love of words, honed to a sharp tip, capable of showing one’s ripped out soul or caressing our one true love in the deepest moonlit aria?
For me, those that are aware of the act, stand by and enable such behaviour are not worthy of being called poets nor given the gift. They are just as responsible. Responsible for the theft of a kind soul who has chosen to breathe a little life into our day while we read their words over a steaming hot coffee and a choice slice of scrummy cake.
Don’t get me wrong, the plagiarism I speak of is not a forest fire that has somehow gotten out of control in our little community but it is an interesting topic for me to cover, as lately other poets have been sharing their stories with me about it . Saddened by the verse they had crafted so eloquently, ripped from them and placed onto a more ‘popular’ page and shown false love. Not because these people feel the words but simply because the profile picture was, shall we say, of an aesthetically good looking person (may I add at this point that in one particular case a fake picture, stolen from someone famous for being a world renowned model; so obviously not a smart man/woman either).
In an almost double edged sword, when this happened to me recently, I smiled a smile knowing that person could never have stepped into the same sun I had on that day, when my lover kissed me under the Eiffel Tower and told me a story of forever.
I find it incredulous but then perhaps I am from a different time where mind games and illusions held no part in the sculptures of it all. It negates the form, for if it is beauty you seek through the sheer appeal of the face you have cheapened a craft that to many of us, is one of the purest forms of air above the very mountain tips.
I guess one could dismiss this piece as jealousy and I would be lying if I said there wasn’t a small element of truth. But I’d rather have someone read my life in prose and relate, than have a thousand never find the hurt, joy or love in them. I’m not looking to make a stand nor am I looking for accolades and favourites. Instead I would rather you read this piece and quietly absorb. To me, that is better than any stars, likes and retweets in the world.
Poetry allows one to cherish the interpretation, absorb all the intricacies of the subject matter. Perhaps find the meaning in the words. Take your time, lose yourself in it and if at all possible, realise that if you have a bond with a poem, it is the biggest gift you will ever receive from a stranger.
So to those who have had this done to them I say this, keep your perfects, keep your mind clear of the perfidy and carry on creating. Fear not the imitation for it is the biggest compliment you can receive and continue to conquer the brave in a world where there are plenty of receiving hearts.
If you love poetry, give it the respect it deserves.
Javas Lamer Hark
Javas L'amer Hark 