Poetry, Philosophy And Rock And Roll for Julia Vannuch

Juliana Vannucchi and poet Matilda Joon reflected on the connections between poetry and philosophy, and about how these areas reverberate in rock and roll.

The dialogue also included the ideas of the prophetic Aldous Huxley.

Matilda believes that poetry is a kind of cure amidst the chaos of life and also maintains that, being a melody that blooms in the soul, It's also the new rock and roll.

Juliana Vannucchi: For years I have had a huge interest in alchemy, which, in short, I understand, in parts (symbolically speaking) as a process of internal transmutation. It's basically when we migrate from one state to another, when we abandon one way of being or conceiving things and experience another that is new and higher. And in this case… I usually watch poetry, in certain aspects, as an art of alchemical potential. Have you ever thought of poetry this way??

Matilda: I really love that you think of poetry as alchemy! In fact, activate, poetry is a kind of transformation — not just the transformation of words into beauty, but from emotions into meaning, pain into power, from the ordinary into something sacred — poetry not only describes the soul — it transforms it and stirs it! And as I said before: sometimes even saves it! The act of writing or reading a poem can change you. I have no doubt about that. How to turn raw, unspoken feelings into gold — a ritual where the invisible becomes visible, where language not only communicates, but transmute.

Juliana Vannucchi: I thought this mention you made about poetry being a ritual in which the invisible becomes visible was fantastic.. Anyway… everything you said was very profound. What your creative process usually looks like to bring a poem to life?

Matilda: My creative process is silent, but confused and very alive. It usually starts at night, when the world stands still and the noise disappears. I drink tea and put on my favorite song… I let the world dissolve… I write words that seem to have waited all day to appear in the dark. Writing for me is not a straight line… It's more like wandering through the memory of sonorous silence… and from this… walk… a line or a moment of truth emerges.

Juliana Vannucchi: Interesting. The owl is the symbol of Philosophy because it sees in the dark. You, as an artist, does this too. You use your poetry as a ritualistic form? Like a spell done through Spoken Word? The night is an invitation to infinity…

Matilda: Yes, I write and interpret Spoken Word many years ago! And I love it! It's raw and completely unfiltered! 

Juliana Vannucchi: Since you brought Philosophy to our reflection, I would like to know if you consider that she is, over it, associated with poetry. I mean, Of course this sacred connection exists… because there are philosophers, like Voltaire and Nietzsche, for example, who philosophized – although not exclusively – through the verses. In other words, Historically, this approximation between the two is legitimate. Recently I was reading a text about Florbela Espanca, in which the author commented that her poetry was a way of trying to understand the meaning of life. Espanca's work is not limited to that, but it would be an aspect of his poetry…

Matilda: I believe that poetry and philosophy are deeply connected – they both seek to explore the essence of being – the nature of truth and the mysteries of existence. Philosophy uses logic and reason, and poetry uses emotions, metaphors and rhythm. I consider poetry to be the soul of philosophy – it gives life to abstract thought. When ideas become too complex, poetry intervenes. It allows contradiction and feeling… the connection is natural. Poetry gives philosophy a heart and philosophy gives poetry a backbone.

Juliana Vannucchi: Your words are sensitive and intense… Why do you think we should read poetry? Voltaire once wrote that “poetry is the melody of the soul”. Where does this melody take us?

Matilda: We should read poetry because it reminds us that we are alive. In a world that moves too fast, poetry asks us to slow down – to listen, to sense, to perceive. It is a mirror and a door – a mirror that shows us our hidden thoughts and a door to someone else's soul. Poetry says silent things out loud – it holds space for joy and sadness – anger and beauty – sometimes, all in the same verse. We read poetry to remember that we are not alone – that someone, somewhere, felt exactly what we're feeling right now… and turned it into art.

Juliana Vannucchi: Matilda, I was reading an essay by Huxley in which he argues that people who read a lot are “bad consumers” who go against the structure of the current global system, which has as one of its proposals to stimulate consumption. Huxley understands that readers are individuals who are very fueled by their own content and, therefore, end up being rich inside and having a free imagination. So, Consequently, they know how to live better with their own company… perhaps books will provide them with this. The man who reads less or does not read at all, is the bait for the gears of a system that values ​​compulsive selling and the construction of superficiality. How do you understand this? Huxley claims that society, including, even tries to label avid readers as strange and generally unhappy people... it would be a perverse strategy of marketing logic!

Matilda: A person who reads deeply develops an inner life—a kind of quiet strength that does not constantly crave distraction or consumption.. So, activate, Huxley's idea touches on something very real: a profit-driven system thrives on dissatisfaction. He needs us to want more, let's buy more, let's roll more. But a person who reads many times is already full… full of thoughts, Questions… and imagination. Reading trains the mind to reflect rather than react… to ask yourself instead of just wanting. This type of person is more difficult to manipulate. I don't need news to feel complete… I have books and poems that make me feel seen and understood… Even free. And exactly that… It's a silent form of rebellion.

Juliana Vannucchi: It would be a change of perception. This reminded me of two other geniuses who align themselves with Huxley: Jim Morrison e Blake. Morrison was heavily influenced by “Proverbs of Hell” and the general legacy of William Blake, who was a mystical prophet. Huxley was also a visionary because at the beginning of 1930, made almost infallible predictions about trends that prevail in the world today. But back to Blake: he believed that we must grasp the infinite, which in my view, is hidden in the endless possibilities of the moment. The Doors used music and theatricality to bring an invisible dimension to the physical world. How do you understand the relationship between Jim Morrison, o Blake e o Huxley?

Matilda: Ohh… How I love answering this question! All three seek the doors behind the visible world! Here we go – I believe that poetry not only reflects reality… but refracts it! Like Blake's burning tigers! Like Huxley's mind-expanding visions! And, of course, the “doors of perception” by Morrison! Mode poetry lens! She takes the common… the city street, silence, the sadness… and shows the spirit behind the skin of things. Jim Morrison once said: “There are known things and unknown things, and in the middle are the doors”. Poetry lives in this environment. It's the beat. The key. The passage. Blake saw angels in the trees. Huxley saw eternity in the folds of the mind. Morrison saw the End – and the rebirth – in a single song. Poetry doesn't just describe the world. She dismantles him… sets it on fire — and asks you to see what's left when the smoke clears! Poetry opens doors… sometimes slowly, like a prayer… sometimes violently, like a scream.

Juliana Vannucchi: Bright! You're right... I certainly see poetry in this medium! Like a magical act, including. And yes… Morrison was a satyr incarnate! A representation of the Dionysian state and also a tamper of consciences. The messenger of the Eternal Return of the Same.

Poetic prose written by Matilda:

THE HARDEST THING ISN’T THE BRUISES
OR THE GASLIGHT HOURS
OR THE OVERALL ABUSE THAT JUST KEEPS GOING –
IT’S THE REALIZATION-
SLOWLY-
THAT HE IS FINE WITH IT
I USED TO THINK EVIL WAS ALWAYS ELSEWHERE-
ABSTRACT

EVIL IS SITTING ACROSS THE TABLE
EVIL IS LIGHTING A CANDLE AND MAKING A CUP OF TEA
EVIL IS LEAVING GIFTS ON THE PILLOW IN THE MORNING
EVIL MAKES PICNICS BY THE SEA AND READ ME POETRY BY THE FIRE
AND THEN LATER-
CALMLY-
SURGICALLY-
DISMANTLING ME INTO TINY LITTLE PIECES

THE PROBLEM I HAVE WITH LIVING WITH EVIL IS THAT
MY BRAIN REFUSE TO ACCEPT IT
I THINK HE IS BROKEN
NOT EVIL
I THINK HE HAVE SCARS
NOT EVIL
I THINK
SURELY NO ONE COULD MEAN THIS
BUT THEN HE SMILES AT ME WITH THAT LITTLE TWIST IN HIS MOUTH
AND I START TO UNDERSTAND
LITTLE BY LITTLE
HE MEAN EVERY SINGLE SECOND OF IT
HE WEAR IT LIKE A COMFORTABLE SWEATER
NATURAL
ENTIRELY HIMSELF
AND HE LOVES HIMSELF FOR IT
HE BUILDS HIMSELF ON IT

EVIL HAVE ANOTHER CUP OF TEA
SCRATCH SOMETHING INTO HIS NOTEBOOK
WHISTLE LIKE A MAN PLEASED WITH HIS WORK
AND I SIT HERE
STARING AT HIM
KNOWING HE WILL DO IT AGAIN

I AM TRYING TO ACCEPT THE UNACCEPTABLE
THAT PEOPLE LIKE HIM EXIST
THEY WALK AROUND IN DAYLIGHT
WRITING POEMS
HOLDING HANDS
SMILING AT NEIGHBORS
THE CRUELTY ISN’T AN ACCIDENT
IT’S WHO THEY ARE

I’M TRYING TO PIN EVIL DOWN ON THESE PAGES
SO IT DOESN’T KEEP FLOATING
BECAUSE THE TRUTH IS
HE WILL GO ON AS IF NOTHING HAS HAPPEND
AND I WILL GO ON STILL IN DISBELIF
FILLED WITH ANXIETY AND BRUISES
ASTONISHED THAT EVIL IS NOT A MYTH
BUT THE MAN I KISS GOODNIGHT

I HAVE LIVED WITH THIS FOR YEARS
AND WORSE-
I LIVE IN DENIAL OF IT
THE DENIAL IS NOT THAT I DON’T KNOW-

I ALWAYS KNOW
MY WITCHY INTUITION IS ALWAYS THERE
THAT LITTLE NERVE PULSING IN ME BEFORE ANYTHING IS HAPPENING
I KNOW EVERY SINGLE BETRAYAL
I AM PSYCHIC IN THE WAY ALL WOMEN ARE PSYCHIC WHEN THEY HAVE BEEN HURT ENOUGH TIMES-
ATTUNED TO EVERY TINY WRONGNESS IN THE AIR
CALL IT PSYCHIC
CALL IT SURVIVAL
I ALWAYS KNOW

I SEE IT BEFORE HE DOES
THE WHOLE ARC OF IT
LIKE AN OLD FILM REEL CLICKING THROUGH HIS MIND
YET-
I FLOAT THROUGH IT IN A FOG DISSOCIATED
CONVINCING MYSELF HE IS JUST TRAGIC IN A WAY I CAN MEND

I AM RUNNING OUT FROM THE HOUSE UP TO THE DARK MOUNTAINS DEEP INTO THE WOODS
SOMETIMES I FIND THE GYPSIES AND THEIR CARAVANS
WITH THEIR CATS DOGS AND HORSES RUNNING FREE
THEY ALWAYS WELCOME ME WITHOUT A WORD
I SIT BY THEIR OUTDOOR FIREPLACE WATCHING SPARKS CRACK OPEN LIKE STARS
I DRIFT SO FAR INTO MYSELF I CAN ALMOST BELIEVE
I AM NOT THERE AT ALL
THAT’S WHAT DISSOCIATION DOES
IT BUILDS A FOG SO THICK YOU CAN LIVE INSIDE THE MOST BIZARRE CONTRASTS:
THE VALLEYS SHIMMERING WITH ANCIENT BEAUTY
MY HEART WHISPERING WARNINGS IN EVERY BEAT
I DON’T WANT TO BELIEVE I HAVE CHOSEN THIS
WITH ALL MY INTUITION
ALL MY UNCANNY SENSE OF THINGS
HAVE I SIGNED MY NAME AT THE BOTTOM OF HIS EVIL SCRIPT?
I CAN’T ACCEPT OR UNDERSTAND IT.

HE IS NOT BROKEN
HE IS NOT LOST
HE IS HIMSELF
AND HE IS FINE WITH IT
HE IS WRITING POEMS
HE BUYS ME FLOWERS
HE MAKES TEA AND TOAST IN THE MORNING FOR ME
HE HOLDS MY HAND IN TESCO
WE ARE BUYING FOOD FOR THE WEEK

EVIL WALKS AMONG US
AND THE WORLD GOES ON BEING BEAUTIFUL ANYWAY
AND MAYBE THAT IS THE MOST UNBEARABLE THING OF ALL