I no longer write serious poetry.
There is no more formal language
left within me
or the will
to connect seemingly arbitrary images.
When I sit under the sky
I see the blue and the planets and the stars
but no more do I look for the interconnectedness
of things or how tiny I can fit in a jigsaw puzzle
whose pieces have all been chewed.
If there is a force that connects us all
it moves within me unknowingly
and in searching for it I lost it
and now that I leave it I find it
in places I was once convinced it avoided.
I am disillusioned I am weary I am jaded
I neglect formalities I writhe in my awkward probing
I scoff at my own confusion and paradoxes
at the times of angst that keep me trite
at the moments of profundity that give me a deep feeling of fraudulence. There is me but I have ceased to exist.
I have seen the great minds of times before me
and I lust to live in a place and time far in the past far in the country far from my materialistic
greedy and petty self.
In my old age I have ceased to find poetry
and in doing so am living it instead.
Does this work? I'm not sure it's done.
Comments
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swan song
hey nienna-i think all poets should question the value of poetry and if they should continue writing. it seems thats in the air on site as you, lad and plumemeister feel living life is more important than writing about it. thats a legit arguement. personally i dont think living and writing are mutually exclusive, i think writing is living.
dave -
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I agree wholeheartedly with you Dave, about the interrelation of writing and living. And I'll definitely continue writing, it just seems I have to live a little more to do it justice. Good to see you around, thank you so much for your comment!
Nienna
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I read this poem earlier and enjoyed it very much. I think its done. There are days when poetry doesn't come, but one just has to accept that. Not every little fall of rain or painting one witnesses need be written and captured in poetry.
The letting go is so real and stark in this poem. In my humble opinion it is the best of work. You have written such beautiful cryptic poems before,but this by far is my favorite. The most lovely of poetry, i find, are those that tell you a truth, an ugly, and a struggle. I also suppose this is your path to your own voice in poetry.
I know i sound like im babbling, i hope you don't mind. The third stanza is aptly placed at the center. It captures everything that is. For poetry comes from the unknown and not from thought. It is a life that when wants to be heard shall beg you to write. To a poet, life is the greatest of poetry and you need not examine life through poetry, but you may capture a memory and a piece of that life by indulging yourself to poetry. Poetry grows with the poet and there is no way you can speed it up or slow it down.
Nienna, i must say that i do really love this poem. It touches on something that i can relate to. I haven't been writing much, nor have been in this site much. I leave comments on poems like yours....those that cannot be ignored. Again, lovely poem. see you around.
-iphios -
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Phige, thank you so much for the time you took to read, re-read, comment, etc. As I mentioned to Pap, I think this one may have fallen a little on its ass, more as a result of my vagueness than anything else. In the scheme of things, that is one of the issues I hope to fix. I think I've been writing poetry (or trying) without the experiences. When I look at the pieces I've done, I can choose a few that look like something I'd like to continue with and work on, and the thing that they all have in common is that they are written from something uncommon that happened to me. So I agree with you wholeheartedly in what you say when you begin your comment. We'll see if my experiment works :-) I'm sure I'll see you around! Thank you so much again.
Nienna
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consider the lilies of the field...
Nienna,
it's late, and i'm drowsy. but what-the-heck:
Lad came on the site today for the first time in ages. he says that he was getting too "poeticised." all he needed was a break, a step-back, a breather. but he also said he will be back soon...
Plumeister left. he said he had to "get off his ass."
my point here is, if their is a point, mind you, that our reason for being doesn't always have to be blatantly obvious. and we probably shouldn't wring our brains trying to find our life's purpose inside a computer screen or within a pen and paper. take it day-by-day. because you just can't "live in a place and time far in the past far in the country far from your [perceived self]." sorry, we don't have that option. so what, there were great minds in the past. they didn't know everything. they were just as lost and confused and hopeless as the rest of us. keep it simple. things are more black/white than i tend to make them. smell the ponderosa. watch the mumming birds buzz. absorb some Vitamin K. enjoy life. that's poetry.
always,
Pap
Matthew 6:28
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It's kind of funny that this came out, I think, because those are all exactly the things I am trying to say here. It's almost my own farewell to this place/stage in my life where I looked for my purpose in a computer screen or pens and papers or books...in fact, all those old guys, I read them now and I try to take what they couldn't and use it. It seems the life of a writer is very tragic because they are writing their own experiences and failures to be absorbed by other generations. There's no happiness in what they make, only hope that someday someone will be smart enough to heed what they didn't. It's almost like living vicariously through anyone who ever reads your books. That's sort of my point. I guess it didn't fly too well, but I don't sit and "write poetry" anymore, because I'm too busy living and every little tiny thing I do now that I would once have looked upon without notice becomes the object and focus of all the poetry that once was in me. I don't have to write it down anymore, because that's to "poeticised" (to use Lad's words) and life is no poem. It is a conglomeration of everything beautiful. Poetry, I think, can only come after experience, and I was trying far too hard to force it out before this with too few experiences. Maybe I'm just taking a breather so I'll have something to say eventually.
Hope that made sense.
Love,
Nenni
Of course, as always, thank you for your thoughts, Pap :-) It's good to have a sounding board for my missteps. -
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a flower among weeds
Nenni,
you make more sense than i ever have.
i just got done watching the Robin Williams movie where he is a doctor that uses humor to heal people. fantastic. he lives to love others. selfless. like Jesus, except for the cursing. haha...
you really are something special, ya know it?
always,
Pap
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