“Men are from Mars, and women are from Venus,” as John Gray says. The concept of love is universally understood, but there exists an evident juxtaposition between the experiences, and manifestations of such between the two sexes. In a figurative sense, I think it’s gastronomy. Women have developed an extensive palate for love, and men are raised to love without ever having the stomach for it. A mother weeps in sorrow no doubt, but to see a father shed tears wrenches your heart a notch tighter. That’s because it rarely happens, because most rarely allow it to.
On a tangent note, is it not true that to love is to speak, and be heard? Thus, isn’t it so that greater love is a kind that speaks volumes, that seeks to be heard. Romantics are multilingual however. There are language barriers to consider. Not everyone who loves sounds like Shakespeare, or Rostand. A hug will do for most, and for some only the grandest of gestures are worthy of the verb. But for those who do have love to mutter like them, write poetry. Granted, its elements aren’t exclusive to itself. Many say it's dead for this reason. Rhyme, meter, and figures can be musically condensed into a straight hip-hop track, further embellished by melodic arrangements in other genres. Even Kendrick Lamar puts it that way in a track literally called “Poetic Justice.” Still, it’s undeniable. There’s a profound, humanizing component in reading purposed text in the medium’s structures. And for what it is, and for what it’s persisted to be, it’s worth a shot if you love somebody, or even love at all.
Jasmines in Her Hair by Kalpesh Desai says “what if love was nothing but the space between phrases” in the poem titled “Between Lines and Elements.” To love as a man is to speak not with your words, but to be felt and understood in its subtexts. This is poetry, told only in a way that poetry can tell. You cannot hear a line break, you cannot listen to the space between stanzas, and you can definitely not analogize these things to the love spoken, yet unspoken with these elements absent
Its end is more than justified by its means, the message penetrates, for me at least. Colloquially, it's “bars,” and if you and I share this disposition, then by all means, I invite you to write poetry. I emphasize men in particular. If I can’t convince you that poetry as an art form is not secluded to femininity based on my analyses and examples, at the very least, take my word that the ladies will love it. Whether that be a prospect, a girlfriend, your mother, love is love and this is a great channel to get that across. On a deeper note, its self-expression as well. You can write to, and for only yourself. We, as men, are not static in identity. We are not just agents of provision and security, we are also fathers and sons. We are not just the carnal, proud of its strength. We are also the living souls that reside within them. The masculine human experience is dynamic, and believe me it’s worth writing poetry about.
And so I urge anyone to write. Much like any art, you must suspend your disbelief in all senses, immerse, and experience. Poetry is not dead to the blind nor the deaf, but it is to those who can no longer feel. I highly doubt that a person, any and every person, can be removed from the ability to do that. Famous poet, Edgar Allan Poe, once said that “I was never insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.” Although insane, as an adjective, may seem insane to put it bluntly, he also said “I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.” Seems to me, I’d rather choose the inevitable insanity of the former.
Written By Marcus Miguel Manrique