Failure in Poetry

Yemenat

Ahmed Saif Hashed

My failure in writing short stories meant that I couldn’t remain stagnant; I had to leave that place, change my path, or seek another harbor more suitable for me. The English proverb states, “You cannot discover new oceans unless you have the courage to lose sight of the shore.” I must change my direction, for failure, as the self-development speaker Zig Ziglar says, “is a forced redirection, not a dead-end.” Or in the words of Saudi writer and media figure Ahmed Mazen Al-Shuqairi: “It doesn’t mean you are a failure; it means you haven’t succeeded yet.” Perhaps they are all right in their insights.

I tried to knock on the door of poetry, hoping to find it open and welcoming. Yet, the intricacies of meter are difficult and exhausting. This was revealed to me during my high school experience. Between me and poetry lie sixteen seas, without a single raft to navigate them!

Why are they called seas, when they also bear names like the long and extended? In truth, they are constraints and limitations that constrict me, and I feel suffocated by them, struggling to breathe. How can I navigate them without a boat or oars? How can I begin my journey with poetry that enchants me, that I enjoy listening to, yet struggle to create or write?

How can my journey in poetry proceed when I have no provisions, no water, and no mount? I studied meter in high school and found it daunting, and I do not believe a day will come when it will become easier for me. From where could it soften? I doubt it will, especially as I sense an expansive barrenness in my memory.

Traditional, metered poetry, with its many artistic constraints, requires a strong reservoir and a wealth