Shariq Ali Poetry

The student asked:
What is Art?

The teacher described it.
The critic critiqued it.
The publishers and dealers sold it.
The public looked at it and listened to it.
The government sponsored it.

But, asked the student,
How do I know if I've done it?

If it fits a category, said the teacher.
If I like it, said the critic.
If I think I can sell it, said the publisher and the dealer.
If I'll buy it, said the public.
If the board approves it, said the NEA.

Then, said the student abjectly,
I must be a failure as an artist.
But, just in the nick of time,
A faerie appeared before the student,
And asked:

How do you feel when you do your art,
Dear one?
The student answered,
Sometimes sad, somtimes ecstatic;
Sometimes powerful, sometimes vulnerable;
Sometimes afraid for the state of my soul;
And more ...

Then, said the faerie,
You are an artist,
Because, my dear,
The art resides, most quintessentially,
In the moment of creation.
And your friends don't need to understand it
Although it feels good when they do.
Go now, and perfect your art,
By being ever more true to yourself.
Goodbye.

And the faerie was gone.
And the student/artist was ever more true to himself.
(OK, herslf too; please don't argue with me right now).
And great art happened.

And the world was a better place.

So there!

Poet: Ronald A Pavellas