Poetry

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I don't know about poems, but I do know about paintings. The secret of painting is to forget one's "self" via the process and to NOT identify with your marks on the canvas. (I know, "Easier said than done!")

If your poem is about seeing your true self or being afraid of what you might find . . . like emptiness--or whatever, then like all monsters, there isn't anything to fear. If the self is an invented illusion (and I believe it is) then a "monster under the bed" is an illusion too, hence nothing to fear.

I suppose it would be the same for me if I had an empty poetry journal under my bed.

5939. Seamus - 10/10/2007 8:57:27 PM

Love what you are saying here, Wiz:

I don't know about poems, but I do know about paintings. The secret of painting is to forget one's "self" via the process and to NOT identify with your marks on the canvas. (I know, "Easier said than done!")

I suppose it would be the same for me if I had an empty poetry journal under my bed.

5940. thoughtful - 10/10/2007 10:08:13 PM

The monsters abandoned the space under my bed years ago and are now firmly lodged in my psyche and my experience. The monsters are the horrors of real life that we experience. For those of us on earth, the good news is that we have survived them....so far. For too many in my family, the monsters have won.

No illusion in my existence. Fate has made it all too real.

The monsters I live with are those still in seed pods, waiting to spring forth with their further suffocating terror...mother's death, hubby's dementia, my own body's abandonment of good health for slow, crippling deterioration that will too make me useless, dependent, and desperate.

Please, gentle people, enjoy your blank canvases and journals. May those monsters bring you a lifetime of pleasure and creative drive, and stave off the likes of mine.

5941. TheWizardOfWhimsy - 10/11/2007 3:50:27 AM

I hear you Seamus!

tful- Every fear is a monstrous illusion.

Once, there was a man who was chased to the edge of a cliff by a pair of tigers — one tiger at the top and the other, waiting for him to fall at the bottom. Their would-be prey found himself clinging to a bush that kept him safe from both of his stalkers. He suddenly noticed that the bush had some suculent-looking berries on it. Having nothing to lose, he decided to eat one.

The story ends with him thinking that nothing in his entire life had ever tasted so sweet.

5942. thoughtful - 10/11/2007 2:38:49 PM

Sorry wiz...i'm from the reality based community...

5943. TheWizardOfWhimsy - 10/11/2007 4:17:31 PM

Bullshit, tful. When you and your husband showed up at my opening, you couldn't even tell me your "real" first name. Your fears are beyond "realistic" and border on the neurotic--so please, don't boast about your rational disposition, especially to me.

I was talking about the human heart, which has absolutely nothing to do with your compulsion for the practical.

5944. NuPlanetOne - 10/12/2007 2:49:12 AM

Thank you Seamus. Well, I will say your approach is much more direct, specific. I actually totally agreed for a while. But then I thought, I think I felt uncertain, really, about what I was afraid of. Almost like I had always had that space under the bed from childhood that had been filled with those imagined monsters, all slayed, but the space kept as a pouch somewhere in the back brain to fill with uncertain or imagined fears, anxiety, if you will. I think my mind always kept that place alive under the bed, a sort of netherland to focus on until my adult mind could sort it all out. I think I actually feel secure in an odd way knowing it is under there, the space, the pouch, the gone monsters. Even though that poem just wrote itself rather quickly, I did pause several minutes before I chose the last few lines. Stating, as it were, a vague fear, and blaming that damn canvas. But what is it I am afraid of? You see my dilemma?

5945. alistairconnor - 10/12/2007 3:52:23 PM

I don't think you're being fair, Wiz. At least, you're conflating two distinct questions. People have their own criteria for anonymity. Thoughtful is perhaps at one extreme, I'm perhaps at the other, but everyone is entitled to choose, and I don't think that indicates anything in particular about the psyche of the person. When I met Macnas last summer, I didn't say much about it on the Mote, because of my perception of his attitude to anonymity... Whatever. Hope to meet you some day.

5946. TheWizardOfWhimsy - 10/12/2007 5:21:53 PM

Alistair, thanks for your imput and opinion, but I'm not sure what two questions you are referring to. Nevertheless, I trust my own perceptions about tful. She has a tendency to be a smug know-it-all--which I can usually tolerate, but I know exactly what she was implying in #5942. And it really had nothing to do with what I shared here. She was condensending and I felt justified in responding sincerely to her self-approving retort.

The arts were invented to express what's in humanity's heart and there is indeed fear in the human heart, but courage as well. The story I shared had to do with the courage to see beauty in spite of reality. In esssence, tful rolled her eyes and insulted the truth of the fable. So I feel I was being "fair" by calling he on her own shit. If she was a cherished and intimate friend (and not anonymous), I would have responded in the very same way.

And if you ever come to Connecticut, Alistair, you'll always have a place to stay.

5947. alistairconnor - 10/12/2007 6:39:17 PM

That's odd. I thought Tful was adding a heartfelt personal reaction to NuPlanet's poem, rather than commenting on yours. I thought her reference to artists was supportive, you apparently found it condescending. Mileage.

Oh well. I know I'll never paint a picture. I wonder when I'll write a poem.

5948. alistairconnor - 10/12/2007 6:50:08 PM

While I'm heckling from the cheap seats, here's something I'd like to share.

A book I'm reading. 1599, a year in the life of William Shakespeare.

Shakespeare had not published any sonnets by 1599, but wrote circulated them among friends. Here's one, published in a pirate edition in 1599.

When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her (though I know she lies)
That she might think me some untutored youth
Unskilful in the world's false forgeries.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although I know my years are past the best:
I, smiling, credit her false-speaking tongue,
Outfacing faults in love with love's ill rest.
But wherefore says my love that she is young?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is a soothing tongue,
And age (in love) loves not to have years told.
Therefore I'll lie with love, and love with me,
Since that our faults in love thus smothered be.

5949. alistairconnor - 10/12/2007 7:02:52 PM

The fascinating thing about the book is that it refrains from invention or speculation (little is known about Will's private life, or how he wrote) but builds a compelling psychological portrait by examining themes in his writing in terms of the political, social, economic and artistic events of one crucial year.

Anyway. In 1609, he published an authorised collection of sonnets, including a revised version of the one above. It's quite astonishing how much he alters the sense of the poem in changing so few words... the rather churlish and cynical original is quite transformed, thus :


When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutored youth
Untutored in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days be past the best:
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue,
On both sides now is simple truth suppressed.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told.
Therefore I'll lie with her, and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flattered be.

5950. TheWizardOfWhimsy - 10/12/2007 7:09:34 PM

That's odd. I thought Tful was adding a heartfelt personal reaction to NuPlanet's poem, rather than commenting on yours.

Post #5940 was heartfelt and I had no issue with it and in my post #5941, I was trying to share a story with tful that I thought was a generous gift so she could address her own fears. And there's nothing worse that setting out a banquet and the having a guest ask for some gruel.

5951. TheWizardOfWhimsy - 10/12/2007 7:11:21 PM

I also take your point (and Shakespeare's), but sometimes it's hard to hold one's tongue and ignore ingratitude.

5952. thoughtful - 10/15/2007 7:44:14 PM

So nice to come back and find I've been the topic of conversation!

Let's see. I agree with AC that I thought wiz was being unfair about my anonymity which I keep for my own reasons. Wiz should not take that personally. I did appreciate his later explanation for his reaction...it cleared a lot of things up for me. Believe me wiz, you and I are from different sides of the brain so it is often surprising to me to see your reactions. I believe it is because we see the world so differently. (I'm also always stunned at how someone who can profess such buddhist zen like mind states also be so quick to anger and assume the worst of others.)

Wiz, about my being condescending, well perhaps when it comes to me you shouldn't trust your own perceptions as they seemed biased toward the negative. I admit I was condescending with you once when it was the topic of economics. But, if you were condescending with me about the subject of art with which you were an expert, it would be ok by me. I'm clearly nowhere near as knowledgeable as you in that field. I guess, I'm not supposed to claim any expertise in a subject with which I've spent 30 years of my professional life...at least not with you. So sorry.

From your point of view, I suppose, your story was a gift and I suppose my reaction could be taken as ingratitude. It was not meant that way at all. All I meant was that I read the story and it did not resonate with anything in me...in much the same way as if, Jen said to me that by accepting Jesus Christ as my savior and being born again, all my pain would be healed. Well, I'm sure if she said that, it too in her mind would be seen as a gift. But for me, it would not resonate. I would be happy for her that it helps her, but it's not for me. I probably too would tell her that I'm from the reality-based community, not the faith-based one. Perhaps I should've said, thanks so much for your tale, wiz, but I'm afraid it doesn't resonate with me. That is what I meant.

It was never meant to be condescending or ungrateful and I'm sorry you saw it that way.

5953. TheWizardOfWhimsy - 10/15/2007 10:29:23 PM

First, tful, I've never professed "buddhist zen like mind states." I've studied and admired the thinking behind Zen, but I don't consider myself a Zen Buddhist. Moreover, if you knew anything about Zen, you'd know that many Zen masters were quick to anger when others responded in false ways.

And let me get this straight? It's okay to condescend and patronize if you're "an expert," in something? Let's be clear, I don't have a "negative bias" against you, I have a visceral disdain for thoughtless behavior from someone with an superior attitude who calls herself thoughtful.

Your response conveniently overlooks the context and sequence of the posts above and you slyly misdirect the focus of the issue to "different sides of the brain," and my "negative bias."

The fact is, you were patronizing then and you still are in this latest post. Try to listen to yourself. In so many words, you are saying: I have nothing to say I'm sorry about except that I regret your misreading of my response that implied that you don't live in "the real world."

Your arrogance and audacity is breathtaking.

5954. thoughtful - 10/16/2007 12:19:48 AM

fine wiz.

Have it your way. You don't profess zen-like thinking by stating the self is an invented illusion while claiming you are at the same time behaving as a zen master by defending your anger. Fine, logic is just an illusion.

I am patronizing for having the nerve to try to explain my understanding of the situation and for saying I'm sorry for not being clearer in my communication.

I am arrogant and audacious for expressing that for me there are many philosophies that don't ring true be it that i'm only an illusion and i don't exist or that JC is my lord and savior or that the stars and planets are guiding my fate from above.

I am an ungrateful lout for not immediately seeing the wisdom and rightness of your philosophy and i'm condescending in that I tried to create a common path between us by suggesting a reason why you and I see things differently and may be prone to misunderstanding each other (which has happened quite a few times in these threads and which I sincerely regret...but you'll probably take that genuine sincerity as condescension and arrogance).

Oh yes, I'm also worthy of your disdain for choosing such a thoughtless handle.

Is that what you want from me? If it's that important to you, fine. You've got it. I'm a jerk. You're all wise and knowing. You win.

I will now give you the opportunity to extend your disdain for me by telling you I'm truly sorry for you that in your ego or bitterness or anger or darkness of soul or whatever it is, that you can't see a sincere attempt at improving our understanding of each other and a desire to return to comity. But it takes two to achieve that and clearly, I'm the only willing participant here. Don't worry. I won't try any longer.

It seems to me that the only time we get along is when I'm complimenting you on your artwork. Otherwise I'm a thoughtless, arrogant, condescending, patronizing, audacious, ungrateful lout. My logical mind is detecting a pattern here. Perhaps you should take your own advice and try listening to yourself some time...you might find it enlightening. But then again, for you, patterns are only illusions. So don't bother. Certainly not on my account.

5955. thoughtful - 10/16/2007 1:40:34 AM

My apologies to other participants for garbaging up this thread with such ugliness.

5956. TheWizardOfWhimsy - 10/16/2007 1:51:11 AM

The lady doth protest too much, methinks! Gosh, tful, it seems like you'll say anything to avoid a simple apology or admit the fact that you were insulting. And do you really think I give two shits about your compliments?--I'm more interested in genuine responses--good or bad--in order to see if I'm touching a nerve. And evidentally I did in this case.

Your projection and your projectiles missed their mark entirely and if any of your vitriol were true I would gladly apologize--which is my habit when someone calls me on my shit. You reveal more than you realize and I don't want to know your real name because I already know your nature.

5957. thoughtful - 10/16/2007 2:50:02 AM

OMG! You're more pathetic than I thought. You think this is about projectiles and targets? You think this is some kind of game? Some kind of pissing contest?

You're so anxious to 'touch a nerve' that you couldn't see a genuine, sincere feeling if it smothered you. Apparently you are so numb that the only genuine emotions you recognize are those that cause others distress. Apparently the only way you know you are alive is by hurling insults at others.

I've had more than enough genuine distress in my life...not this illusions crap, but the most horrendous images burned in my brain of my brother, shot dead, with the pool of blood turning to a black beneath his lifeless body...images of my 39 year old sister in law looking 90, a mere skeleton, as fragile as a hatchling, feeling nothing but the most horrendous pain a person can feel, so painful that she can't even bear to be touched, so painful that, as disgusting as it feels, you wish her speedy death so her suffering, and your own, will end.

Get in touch with your own damn feelings so you can stop parasitically feeding off the emotions of others. I don't need this in my life. Life is hard enough without your sick head games. I knew there was something horrible inside someone who could dream up that disgusting image of pelle, but I never knew until now just how sick you really are.

You pathetic bastard. Beneath pity.

Poetry