Poetry is an ambiguous entity. On one hand, it can be embraced for its refinement and cultured appeal, as seen in those reciting centuries-old verses on television screens, engaging in poetic debates that often garner nods of approval. On the other hand, poetry can be likened to a joke, provoking laughter and disdain when confessed as a personal pursuit in reality. Poets and poetry are highly symbolic, often associated with impracticality, affectation, poverty, and neurosis.
In reality, being a poet is more of a spiritual identity than a professional one. A poet can engage in any occupation, be it a lawyer, doctor, or farmer. "Poet" is a self-identification or, at most, mutual recognition within a small community. In the film "Paterson," the protagonist's vocation is that of a bus driver. Crafted by renowned director Jim Jarmusch, the film seamlessly blends mundane life scenarios with a surreal inner world, using various symbols, reflections, and contrasts to present a nearly unphotographable sense of poetry.
As a bus driver, Paterson's daily life is a monotonous routine, yet in his spare time, he frequently engages in writing poetry. He casually jots down verses in a notebook, treating poetry as a psychological and physiological need, akin to the daily acts of eating and drinking water. Paterson has never entertained the thought of publishing or publicizing his poetry. It's a personal expression that flows naturally, a ritual almost as mundane as his daily life.
Paterson has a live-in girlfriend, Laura, whose personality stands in stark contrast to his own. She is passionate, willing to experiment, and pursues everything, even impractical. Laura consistently encourages Paterson to organize his poetry, hoping to share it with a broader audience.
On the surface, the story may seem tiresome—a bus driver who loves poetry. What kind of affected state could this be? However, Jim Jarmusch's portrayal of this character is remarkably comforting. Paterson completely dissolves any sense of ceremony or significance attached to "writing poetry." Each morning, during the brief period before the bus departs, he sits in the driver's seat, pulls out his notebook, and leans over the steering wheel to jot down a few lines. When the boss comes for registration, Paterson doesn't consider it an interruption. There's no need for a shift in roles or mental transitions; he seamlessly moves from those verses into the mundane, chatting with his boss about everyday life, listening to complaints, and then starting the bus to begin the cycle of stops. During lunch, he sits by the water on a bench, jotting down a few more lines and enjoying a piece of the creatively tacky cake handmade by his girlfriend. Paterson never perceives writing poetry as having a value beyond the ordinary; just as he never feels the need to coarsen or commercialize himself because of his role as a bus driver. Through these everyday details, a genuine "person" emerges, avoiding the pitfalls of being solely defined by a "role." For Paterson, writing poetry is devoid of affectation.
"Paterson" is replete with metaphors, symbols, and dreamlike yet palpable scenes. The story begins with Laura, Paterson's girlfriend, sharing a dream about them having twin babies. Subsequently, twin imagery recurs throughout Paterson's real life—a pair of twin men, twin little girls, and twin elderly ladies. They appear at his doorstep and on his bus, with one of the little girls surprisingly sharing a love for poetry, engaging in discussions about her verses with Paterson. Contrasting Laura's dream, a sense of ambiguity arises, blurring the lines between reality and imagination. However, making a clear distinction between reality and illusion may not be crucial; instead, it becomes a superb externalization of the poet's psychological landscape.
Paterson's life is notably divided into two parts: the stereotypical mundane daily routine and the dynamic inner world. He wakes up at nearly the same time every day, wears identical clothes, drives the same old car in circles along the same routes, sits in the same spot for lunch, takes the dog out at the same time in the evening, and visits the same bar to occupy the same seat for a beer. Each morning, the first thing Paterson does upon waking up is check his wristwatch. While driving, the montage of the clock's rotating hands overlays his view, summarizing his daily life in a cinematic montage. Yet, in the repetition of these routines, a kind of philosophical eternity is achieved. The seemingly dull lives of others start to possess a unique poetic quality.
The story's charm lies in the introspection of the poet. Paterson neither idealizes poetry nor looks down upon life. His girlfriend serves as a contrasting figure—lacking talent, full of enthusiasm, and embodying the stereotypical pretentious artist. Paterson, on the other hand, smiles and tolerates the complaints and boasting of his bus passengers, finding poetry in their mundane conversations and from the abstract realm of his inner world.
The narrative is filled with subtle flashes of brilliance—poetry torn apart by a dog, an empty notebook gifted by a Japanese visitor exploring the poet's hometown. These elements echo Paterson's attitude towards poetry—temporary, personal, ephemeral, and inherently unsuitable for sharing, much like the nature of encounters that prompt poetic inspiration.
After a brief moment of loss and sadness, Paterson gathers himself to resume writing poetry, entering another cycle of the ordinary. This, ultimately, is the true poetry of reality, a genuine poet rather than one confined to a performative identity.
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