Consolations for Transience
"Is it worth making art?"
To one concerned: Know this. Know that I tried. Know that, though there’s no result There was hope. Know that this time, one plus one Equals more than two. In the end All will turn out this way. The things we cared for fade away The things we made, blown away in the Breeze of time. And yet we care, and yet we make. This is the paradox of us. Though our stories Are diluted by the generation’s wind We still tell them. Though our lives are transient Bubbles in a pouring stream In the miniscule second Lies an undiscovered eternity. Know that The things you made, The art you poured your heart into Someone somewhere sometime Will find it. People cannot get enough of helping Others by helping themselves. Living in uncertain times Where the future is hazy The past unreachable — Strive to leave a mark on the Never ending canvas of The Present.
Poet’s Note:
This poem was written for a poetry competition at my university. I wrote it in two days, one for the actual writing, and one for reviewing, editing and asking others’ thoughts. Even though it didn’t win any awards, I’m still proud of it, of the subject matter and the pace with which I wrote it.
The poem is written in a way which attempts to address the worries of someone debating making art in the future. It addresses the question of art’s purpose, use, and ultimately, the justification of the effort put into making it.
The fragility of human life, and the permeance of art have always fascinated me, how they contradict and yet give meaning to each other. The poem attempts to bring those feelings onto the page.
John Keats wrote in his poem ‘Ode on a Grecian Urn’:
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty, — that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”
Indeed, what is art but an appreciation, a slight, if poor, imitation of said beauty? Men make art nonetheless, because it is the only way in which we can express ourselves, and the love we have for the beauty of the world.
Thank you for reading.