Passion and sexuality go hand in hand (figuratively and literally). Nothing describes ecstasy and coitus like a poet’s words. I am not saying this. The world’s whole hearted response to their passionate words speaks for their work.
Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love,
and let us judge all the rumours of the old men
to be worth just one penny!
If you begin to think, the success of their work isn’t fortuitous. Nothing captures a reader’s attention like carefully weighed words. It’s no secret men love reading about sex (cue more views for this article as a result) and thus it is comprehensible that poetry’s boundaries were bound to expand beyond the archaic confines. Other arguments range from the existential to the absurd and poets make their points persistently in an astounding variety of ways, using every metrical and technical device to show off their wit and prowess. Perhaps the most famous example is Robert Herrick’s poem, “To the Virgins, Make Much if Time” where he began “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” It’s crass, it’s audacious and it’s popular. This period of sexual writing distorted (ended, who are we kidding.) soon enough though. The reading experience was passionate in itself and more importantly exclusive. Poems are lovable because of their unique perspicacity and the ability of theirs to be interpreted differently by each reader.
Why did this experience distort, you ask? I’d like to point my finger at the film makers and the cinema lovers. They took something pure and turned it into something perverted. It’s all out there bare and naked for you to see. Nothing has been left to the imagination. Nothing (yes, they will do anything to earn a cheap buck). The writers, who do coddle with passionate writing, end up limiting it to prose only. The truth is we want everything to be visual and something dependent on imagination. Our brain cells are dormant sexually and will soon become dead. I firmly believe that during real life encounters we’ll end up aping the actors we’ve grown accustomed to. Trust me when I say we won’t look as good as they do (VFX). Love is abundant and love is grey. It is because of these reasons that passion cannot be depicted, it can be only visualised. The art may be distorted but it still has substance. There is always a budding poet who wishes to write about fornication but is a little sceptic about its success. To him I say,
Try to keep them, poet,
those erotic visions of yours,
However few of them there are that can be stilled.