POETRY 101-Learn to Write Good Poetry with Nina Bingham, MH

 

For those who wish to compose quality poetry, POETRY 101 is a seven-week, online and affordable community college course. Early enrollment is open for the class, which starts in the Fall. I'll be your teacher; I have a publishing firm, ten books published (3 poetic), and a master's degree in English and creative writing. Kindly forward the flyer! For further information email:

createyourlife.nina@gmail.com

Be an Original (Dedicated to Frida Kahlo) by Devi Nina Bingham

The phrases "I will be a famous writer," "I want to paint like Frida," or even "I will be the industry leader" are perilous since they imply self-rejection. You might believe that you are merely attempting to improve yourself and hone your skills. In reality, you are just a copycat. Because what is being perfected is more of the stand-in and less of the actual you. You can put your hair in braids and dress like me in peasant skirts, and you can paint fantastical pictures of the tragedies of life, but you will only look like a dime store copy of someone famous. The reason for this is that you failed to draw inspiration from your own individualistic imagination. You created using the inspiration of another artist, not your own. Until you give the world an original gift, you cannot claim to be an artist.

Initially, your talent may be of poor quality. You may not earn any awards or recognition. If this is the case, you have two options: continue practicing until your voice becomes distinct to you and others, or settle for second best. There is only one first place, isn't that correct? Only one person may be the original. Therefore, if you want to be the best, find out what you have to say. When said, there will only be one unique perspective, allowing you to be the best at what you do. When you duplicate someone, no matter how much you respect their brilliance, you can never say with pride and conviction, "This is an original," and you will always be second best. Staying true to your own voice and vision is essential to honoring your life's story because any product reflects the creator's journey in some manner. All work reflects the originator's thoughts and feelings. An original is determined by its origin. Allow your work to reflect you in some way. If not, you've lost the one genuine piece of life that should be sewn into it.

Because the ideas and emotions I conveyed through my paintings were entirely original, I have been referred to as original.  Had my style been a knockoff of Picasso's, a chunky, mismatched brilliance, the observer would have said, "It looks like one of Picassos." They couldn't say that, though, because mine looked just like me. Critics actually couldn't agree on how to categorize my work. I didn't like that they were referring to my works as this or that. "Why can't they be just what they are: Fridas?" I asked myself. However, people are eager to categorize things because it makes it easier for critics and sellers. I still say my style was not surreal; my style was my own. 

My work did not fit neatly into the definition of a surreal depiction, which is a representation of a central notion or idea through the use of indirect themes. For example, in "The Two Fridas," a heart connects both Fridas, symbolizing the sense of duality that I experience internally. In reality, there were not two of me sharing the same heart. However, the heart served as an indirect theme for expressing my deepest emotions. Stylized subjects appeared repeatedly in my work, such as Diego's face on my forehead. I was the only one to portray myself as a peasant in both art and life. I was the only one to illustrate the facial hair. These met the criterion of surreal, while many other paintings did not. My art was more characterized by its originality than by its bizarre components. "Frida" was proclaimed in each piece so that a person who had never seen my paintings before might recognize them. Despite the diversity of subjects, my style—the "me" that was poured into it—was indisputable.

A categorization or title shouldn't adequately capture your art; your style should. With a label like "this" or "that," you can sell it. However, don't make the error of being so commercialized that you neglect your personal signature. What makes you "you" should be evident in your work, which should reflect your soul. The difficulty is that most people don't know who they are, so they cannot define it sufficiently in their work. You may be familiar with the many roles you play, such as parent, spouse, employer, or boss. This does not imply that you are familiar with your spiritual self, which is your inspiration. How can you produce if you are not in touch with that aspect of yourself? It is the source of creativity. Be alone if you want to be an artist, for solitude and introspection reveal the truth. Without truth, there is no art. Art is really about expressing one's truth. The artist may be expressing the truth about themselves, their lives, or society, but art never lies. 

Art is like the confession you get after an injection of truth serum; it comes from the subconscious mind, which does not lie. The subconscious records reality and plays it back in dreams, disguised as characters and settings that we mistake for something different. It conceals itself while always telling the truth about what it has recorded. The subconscious is the driving force behind all artistic interpretations. Because of the world's noise and activity, only silent reflection stimulates the subconscious to express itself. Allow your spirit to extend out and listen for its message. The message might be in the shape of images or words, music or recollections, or nameless feelings. When they surface, there will be a sense of urgency and significance, and these concepts serve as messengers. Like Mercury's winged feet, they will push on you until you are forced to take up your paintbrush, sketchpad, or computer.

Original ideas do not need to be bent into the shape of another artist. It's only because you haven't spent enough time honing your trade that you might not think your artistic voice is worth hearing. Realize that your message is crucial because it has to be heard by someone. We need your voice. Continue to forge your own route. If you persevere, you will eventually discover that you are an original as well. 

With Love,

Frida

Tapas-by Devi Nina Bingham

There is a word--a concept in Hinduism that holds great significance. The Sanskrit word is "tapas." It means discipline; more exactly, disciplining oneself. Monks take this word to mean spiritual discipline, and mental purification. The Buddha starved himself in order to find the meaning of life (and found it not to work); this was his tapas. Tapas is denying ourselves what we want for what we really need. It is the opposite of gluttony, addiction and indulgence. In addition, anytime we are suffering and growing as a result, we are enduring tapas. We do not ask to suffer as the Buddha did-it just drifts into our lives when heartbreak, illness, injury, death, or a divorce comes around, so many situations in which we are involuntarily thrown in the water and asked to swim. We suffer the most when we do not have the strength or the skills to stay afloat yet are asked to stay in the water anyway. Suffering can engender a host of unwelcome emotions, among them anger, frustration, and hopelessness.

Likewise, when a seed is planted, it does not know it already has everything inside of it, a blueprint for how it should grow. It only knows the repressive darkness and heaviness above it of being buried alive. It begins to reach upward but finds no help, no light. The seed is an apt metaphor for growth. When we are in enduring Tapasya we just want to cry because the tests and trails seem too heavy to bear. We wish someone would come and lend us a hand, but nobody does. In these moments we are being asked to grow into a form we have never been before. Like the soldier being whipped into shape at bootcamp, we cannot see the strong soldier we are in the process of becoming. We only feel the oppressive beatdown and like GI Jane, life is kicking us in the face, and we feel defeated by our enemies. But something within us keeps reaching upward, even when we do not know why. This must be because we were all created to burst our confines and to bloom.

If you, like me, have been experiencing anger, frustration, or hopelessness, you may be experiencing tapas. Perhaps you are being asked to let go of your lower nature so you can be purified. Growth is the hardest thing in the world. Most people don't grow very much because it is hard. But keep fighting and moving forward towards the picture you have of yourself, the purified and the whole you, remembering that suffering, or at least struggle, is the only way the seedling can bloom.

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1Devi Nina Bingham

The Long Walk Home (Dedicated to Frida Kahlo) by Devi Nina Bingham

How to feel when every person has fled.

Every fair-weather friend, every half-hearted lover.

You, beset with the frailty of age and illness,

even a socialite comes to it.

A barren desert that harbors no life as far as the eye can see

where the tinkling sound of fiestas and frivolous toasts are a distant memory.

What is life devoid of love, stripped of its amorous distractions?

Left with memories of what was and will never be again.

Left with the little good you contributed.

Hiding from the selfishness, lust, and greed you justified.

When aged you dance with the truth.

Go on denying, even to your dying day.

Keep running, or face it squarely?

Admit, if only to yourself, that on many occasions

you failed to do the right thing.

Moral failures, regrets-all of us riddled with them.

Admit them to those you harmed, and peace comes.

Better to confess your shortcomings than to hear them from others.

More admirable to admit that you were flawed and human

than to clumsily go on blustering into eternity with hidden sins.

Only degrees of sin separate us.

Though the biggest person admits his doom,

he cannot nullify the price that shall be paid in the hereafter.

Only does it cleanse the conscience so he can die in peace.

Therefore, it is a good state, alone to ponder your deeds.

Try not to resent it.

Love,

Frida

Do-It-Yourself by Devi Nina Bingham

The biggest moment, and so few knew

I did this thing all by myself.

Family and friends hadn't a clue

So, I set the degree upon a shelf.

Most of my life is a do-it-yourself.

It's my own choice to live this way

ever since my hair turned grey

the only one I care to impress

is my dog, on a good day.

I'm a reclusive, if reluctant, success. 

Eclipse by Devi Nina Bingham

In a world of sound, disturbance and noise

you walked on a silent, perfect white cloud

and I went deaf at your wordless, glad poise

as you shouted over the din of the crowd.

 

From different worlds, like day and night

my sun did shine, your moon did set

I held your light ever so tightly

afraid that I hadn’t captured you yet.

 

But the moon only shines when darkness has fallen

when it’s hushed, unbound, and forever free

so you fled from me as the sun was setting

and I still rise for you, though you don’t see.

 

Our best day was together

was an eclipse in the weather.

The Philosophy of Eugenics (Dedicated to Frida Kahlo) by Devi Nina Bingham

Illness is a failure. Not a moral failure, but rather, a physical restriction that prevents us from being our best self. And we all want to present the world our finest side, don't we? However, disease forces us to reveal our brokenness, vulnerability, and humanity. I am not implying that my diseases made me any less of a strong person, because it takes fortitude to withstand a condition like Polio and chronic pain. It is heroic to persevere in the face of hardship, discomfort, and limits.

Heroic, you say. In what way is illness heroic? Because it is difficult enough to live on this planet. For one individual, eking out a living, navigating the difficulties of relationships and attempting to comprehend the meaning of life and existence, is sufficient. But then you have an accident that leaves you permanently crippled, like mine did. Or an illness hits as a youngster, like Polio did for me, and you are permanently marked as different. All of a sudden, the course of your life has changed and you adjust your dreams appropriately. It is heroic to bear a disease because, in addition to living the life that healthy people lead, you also have to navigate a second layer of life, all the while attempting to appear as though life is a lark. A hero is someone who can carry twice as much while maintaining a courageous demeanor and a can-do attitude.

People who are not part of the circle of disease are unable to comprehend this and may regard individuals who are unwell as less important. And this is the question facing civilization. Is it better to evaluate someone based on their value as a worker or soldier, or upon their inherent value as a person created in God's image? The aged, sick, and disabled are less worth less, if not worthless, when value is only determined by output. And a lot of individuals believe just this way. Someone is said to be a drag on the economy if they are unable to produce enough. But these ignorant politicians forget that they will also grow old and ill and be reliant on society to support them. But they won't exclaim, "Since I no longer work, it is off to the slaughterhouse with me!" They will argue, instead, "I have worked and contributed, and it is only right that society bear with me because of illness." The young and powerful will bear the brunt of their economic burden. That's the way life naturally goes.

What if, however, a politician claims that the old or the crippled are the issue? What if the government neglects its responsibility to care for the mentally and physically ill, veterans, and the elderly who have limits they did not request? Then there is justification for the government to ignore people, deny them social help, or even eradicate them. This may sound harsh or unlikely, yet the Nazis actually did this. The old, the crippled, anyone who was different, even children were collected up and people who couldn't work in a camp were thrown out like garbage.

Would something like this ever happen again? Keep in mind that a giant tree starts as a little seed. There was a political movement behind every law. Originally, all political movements were merely philosophical. All philosophical ideas were once thoughts, and all thoughts were once only feelings. Movements develop in this way. The false belief that one human is superior to another based only on physical attributes is known as eugenics, and it was this belief that spread among the German people. The idea that one gender is superior or that one religion is superior originated from the idea that one genetic line is superior. Throughout history, eugenics has been the cause of conflicts and fatalities. Could it occur once more? It is taking place! The seed has been sown, and leaders and their followers are growing the bitter seed that leads to ruin.

But why would anyone fall for such a harsh and senseless philosophy? Due to fear. The emotion that sows the seed is fear. They don't want to be caught in the rain because they can see the storm clouds brewing. "It's excellent," they say, pointing to the storm. When blood starts to pour, they defend it by saying, "Blood is terrible, but it has to be done." Pretending not to notice, they turn their backs on the worst of it. In any case, their guilt is equal to that of the executioners. Fear has the power to turn otherwise decent individuals into killers and liars.

Furthermore, they are blind to the fact that they are supporting an ideology that has been shown to be scientifically incorrect. According to genetic research, all humans started out with the same features: wide noses, dark eyes and dark skin. Humanity originated in the same part of Africa. Since we all sprung from the same seed, we share the same ancestry. It's true that humans diverged and developed many bodily changes, including lighter skin and eyes. My argument is that we are genetically related, not just by name. Since we are all members of the human race, there is no superior race.

Will stop this folly and reveal the truth at any cost, or will you, out of fear, support the aggressors who spread eugenics? I don't see strength when I see racists, I see cowards. I see uneducated individuals denying reality. It will become clear to them that we are all linked and that no blood line is better than any other with just a little investigation. However, as falsehoods are simpler, they decline to look for the truth. Like kids hiding under their mother's skirts, I don't think this kind of bafoonish conduct is admirable.

Everyone will have to decide whether to support the real heroes, or the aggressors. Because I struggled against oppression while also suffering, I chose to be a hero. You see, a hero is not someone who hides behind a shield, but rather, someone who stands without one. I would never call you brave if you hide behind a political party's falsehoods. Being heroic is calling out the storm for what it is and standing your ground against it even when you can see it coming quickly.

With Love,

Frida