Here I present, in an integrated and coherent form, my own interpretation, definition, and explanation of the creative process—an understanding upon which I have reflected at different times and which I intend to make a full, independent chapter of my book "Philosophy of Perception". In my view, the most appropriate definition of creation is this: creation is the aesthetics of the unknown entering the known and then taking the form of existence; and at times this very process expands from the known into a wider known, and from that wider known into the stage of existence itself—a progression whose details will become clearer as the discussion unfolds.
Literary or artistic creation is, in fact, a formal manifestation that arises from the interaction between a human being’s inner and outer disciplines. By inner discipline I mean the discipline of thought, emotion, feeling, reflection, and perception, while outer discipline includes sustained practice of experience, observation, study, and communicative skills. Within this framework, I have also attempted to understand the metaphysical sources of that subtle and invisible fabric of poetry which I call the metaphysical structure of creation, or the metaphysical structure of poetry.
My standpoint regarding the creative process is that its fundamental unit is tragedy. Although the presence of comic or joyous elements in the fine arts cannot be denied altogether, it is equally undeniable that tragedy is deeper, broader, and more powerful than comedy, and scholars and thinkers are largely in agreement on this point. One natural attribute of creation is its evolutionary character, and it is precisely this natural evolution that protects the creative act from imitation, repetition, artificiality, and pretension. When nature itself becomes the teacher, creation grows like wild plants—without excessive pruning—advancing in its own organic manner. The greatest benefit of this is that the fragrance of absorption outweighs that of mere acquisition, though this by no means implies that the creator is ignorant of artistic principles, poetic merits and flaws, or hidden techniques, or that they deny the value of shaping a wild forest into a cultivated garden. The real distinction lies only in this: the creator does not allow technical skill to dominate the creative process.
It is also a beautiful truth that many poets begin their creative journey with the timeless emotions of love and affection, and the incomparable states of separation and longing, for these are experiences almost every fortunate human being passes through. Added to this is the great blessing of being granted the ability to translate such states into language. According to the basic definition of perception, the human mind processes information in an organized manner, incorporating phenomena, memory, and meaning; in poetry, this very process appears at a creative level, where the poet forms a new meaning between reality and imagination and entrusts it to the page with an aesthetic rhythm.
The most delicate aspect of the creative process is "quality" or "state"—that inner condition which is bestowed upon every creator in varying degrees of intensity. It is this inner tremor that gives birth to creation; without it, even with complete command over language and mastery of versification, poetry remains merely a potential form. My observation is also that even a modest, spontaneous creative act can be far more elevated and effective than a work produced after passing through many rigid, planned, and prolonged stages of technical acquisition. Nevertheless, it is essential that a writer always keep alive within themselves the student’s thirst for knowledge, read with the intention of understanding and feeling others’ words and books rather than provoking debate to assert oneself, engage in constructive dialogue, and avoid all forms of intellectual arrogance—for knowledge is so vast and profound that there is no room in it for conceit.
Imitation of already-created literature is deadly poison for a writer. Instead of laying hands on another’s poetry or prose, one should trust the voice of one’s own heart and the sight of one’s own mind, because before becoming a great writer, it is far more important to be original. And once someone is original, they are inevitably distinctive; beyond that, how high they rise depends on their capacity and fortune. It is also self-evident that creation and creative literature are entirely matters of the inner self, whereas craft and embellishment are external concerns. True, living poetry, painting, or melody brings its own craft—and often even its own form—along with it. Revision and refinement are themselves a continuation of the creative process and have no significance outside it; I repeatedly feel the need to clarify that no serious creator denies the necessity of revision and technical refinement.
The creative process reminds me of the creation of the human being and the creation of the universe: the same wonder, the same birth, and the same inner call. That is why intellectual consciousness and the creative process do not negate each other but instead strengthen one another. According to the Philosophy of Perception, a poet’s perception forms the foundation of their creative act, and the creative process itself is autonomous and free—it may occur however it wishes, for whomever it wishes, wherever and whenever it wishes. Whether it serves aesthetics, spirituality, or a scientific or social purpose, it is, in every case, grounded in sincerity and goodness and remains beyond material self-interest. Work done through cunning, manipulation, or vested interests may resemble creative literature, but it cannot become true literature.
For this reason, I say that poetry is the act of bringing into the known a living scene drawn from the unknown; and if this act of goodness is not allowed to become impure, it possesses the power to transform inner worlds. Otherwise, a fabricated imitation—whether a literary piece or a painting—may momentarily startle, but it remains incapable of leaving a lasting impact on the mind and the heart. Finally, I should add that it is also part of my experience that at times a creator sets the creative process in motion through an external stimulus, while at many other times internal movement and inner stimulation alone activate it—and this uncertain yet deeply meaningful condition is the true soul of the creative process.
