Pamela Leavey

words and pictures....

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Category: Poetry

What Does Literature Do

When prompted, in my graduate studies class, Theory and Criticism of Literature, to write about why I turn to literature, I cited literature as a source to understand the human struggle. This question, “what does literature do” was posed after reading an excerpt of Plato‘s Republic. My response follows…

Plato

I believe that literature is capable of expanding our minds as it reaches into the depths of the soul of the reader and invites them in to view a glimpse of the human soul from the eyes of the writer and the characters who they write about. Furthermore, I contend that literature can be a great source of comfort and joy to readers and it can also shake a reader to their core causing the reader to feel discomfort, confusion and sadness. To further clarify my own beliefs and broaden my understanding of what literature does, I turned to Plato to examine his beliefs on the topic.

Plato is not terribly concerned with the human struggle. Indeed, the human struggle in literature is only a representation of that struggle in Plato’s opinion. He says in the Republic, Book X that “a representer knows nothing of value about the things he represents” (Plato p. 71). In this Plato asserts that a writer can not know anything about what they are writing about, because writing is a form of representation and “representation and truth are a considerable distance apart” (Plato p. 67).

I would tend to disagree with Plato on this, as I believe that writers are capable of translating their own experiences into literature whether it be poetry, fiction or nonfiction. In fact, in today’s world, which is so vastly different from Plato’s time, the memoir, which falls into the creative nonfiction genre, is a very popular form of literature. Yet, in Plato’s view, “a good poet must understand the issues he writes about, if his writing is to be successful, and that if he didn’t understand them, he wouldn’t be able to write about them” (Plato p. 67).

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When Possibilities Bloom

From my poetry collection

When Possibilities Bloom, by Pamela Leavey

In the spring
when possibilities bloom 
with all the fervor 
of young love,
there is doorway, 
that opens,
for the soul that seeks
to search the buds
for the perfect 
flower. 
 
There 
in that doorway 
there
is the magic,
of hearts colliding 
with nature 
in the dance
of the fairies
on the hill 
with the sun setting.

I will wait there
until night falls
and watch 
the stars twinkle,
and you will 
hold me close,
until the dawn light
creeps up over the hill
and I awake,
from the dream.

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Poem: Low Tide

I wanted to acknowledge Earth Day 2021 with a piece of poetry, written about my beloved Merrimack River. I am a child of the river. She runs in me…

Low tide—
river’s edge.
Still waters. 
A lone duck, draws
a line 
across the reflection. 

The water—
like glass ripples.
Beyond, spring bustles.
Some days
it even hustles
always calling for introspection

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Tethered

From my manuscript in progress, Reflections on the River...

Tethered

We are all empty vessels
Floating tenuously on the river
Tethered by an ancient cord
To the Earth’s womb.

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Poetry: Winged Bird

Snowy Egret at the Parker River National Wildlife Refuge
 
Winged Bird
  
 Winged bird in flight,
 Flying so freely through the night,
 Upon the winds of love 
 And hope,
 Fearful perhaps of what might.
  
 Like all winged creatures
 You soar,
 High above earth's stable ground,
 Touching briefly,
 If only to light,
 Upon the soul of love's creation.
             
 Your flight is your fancy,
 Your freedom from truth,
 You use your wings wisely,
 To escape attainment.
             
 Winged bird in flight,
 Flying so freely through the night,
 Upon the winds of love
 And hope,
 Fearful perhaps of what might.
             
 To stop your flight,
 And be conceivably grounded,
 Would it quench,
 Your freedom you fear;
 Or would you gain,
 With your wings some feet,
  
 To plant firmly on earth,
 Among the seeds of love,
 And grow ever more joyous,
 Amid what love reaps. 

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Poetry: Life Changes Who We Are

The Pink House, Plum Island, Massachusetts
Life Changes Who We Are 

The wind howled, 
It shook the house 
And tossed dead branches to the ground. 
What if I were the wind
I questioned—
Would I be a soft and gentle breeze
Or might I blow as wild as the furies,
Hot and cracking with the spark
That could light a brush fire
Without a care.
  
Maybe life is 
Just a confluence of conditions
That blows
Like the wind
Either wreaking havoc 
Or softly caressing
Our worn-down souls. 
  
Once, I might have been a fury—
Young and filled with eager energy
Now I am the gentle breeze
Caressing life with a touch like feather
The cool tickle across my skin.
We never remain the same for long
Life changes who we are. 
 © March 2017

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