FOREWORD
"MY
JOURNEY WEST"
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Poems by George Pararas-Carayannis
Aristotle said that
the object of poetry was pleasure. And when he used these words
he, doubtlessly used them in the widest possible sense: poetry
to include the full range of man's creative imagination; pleasure
to encompass everything from the baby's first chuckle to the
philosopher's cry of delight at apprehending a new facet of truth.
To me poetry has been the expression of pain, pleasure, love,
agony, 
truth, and wonder. It has has been a brief summation
of the endless experiences of a difficult but wondrous journey.
A journey that started east from where my sun rose , and has
traveled westward to the direction of its sunset - while searching
for rainbows on obscure, less traveled roads.
So, with an occasional and rare lyrical inspiration, but always
with genuine philosophical curiosity, persistence and sincerity,
I tried to give meter, music, and some relevance to my search
for personal identity and for the great spiritual and sensual
values of life - as I saw them subjectively - during my continuous
metamorphosis over the years.
Like many before me,
I pondered and agonized about the hard and merciless fate of
life's unavoidable erosion, ultimate finality and the great uncertainty
beyond. I searched for the universe and its Creator, but I found
no answers, only more questions.
Then, at
the other end of the spectrum, I detached from subjectivity,
and laughed and entertained myself with the antithesis, humor,
wildness, insanity, contradiction and the aesthetic realism and
order, of this wonderfully-structured, universal chaos. So, with
a sequence and choice of words that suggested rather than explained,
I tried to create for myself and to verbalize the moods and allegorical
visions of this aesthetic realism.
From the vast storeroom
of almost forgotten personal memories and experiences, I drew
images, thoughts, visions - in an effort to grasp, understand,
judge, reconcile, appreciate, amuse, and finally accept. Sometimes
I cried, and more often laughed as the truth -my version - or
the beauty of a moment, were captured or revealed by verse or
thought; as myths of my imagination became subjective and tangible;
as dreams and nightmares took flesh and became overwhelming realities.
And by writing,
I became more and more vulnerable and addicted to these images.
A growing process you might say, a synthesis and decomposition
of my inner self, inspired from bitter but, also, happy moments,
when I found the temporary salvation and strength my soul needed
to continue this wondrous "Journey West".
I have written
these poems for very selfish reasons.
