Poetry

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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.

5958. TheWizardOfWhimsy - 10/16/2007 3:07:13 AM

Thanks tful, I appreciate the honesty and I'm sorry for your pain, but I have no remorse about any of my posts.

5959. Seamus - 10/16/2007 8:09:35 PM

Still working this one, what else is new?

Hay wagons at sunset


All day, cathedrals have grown
out of blocks of hay
planed and stacked
from the second cutting.

In rings of reverent silence,
these wheeled fortresses line
the limits of the proven fields.

Thick with the shaved and seated,
the nearest groans low
under the impediment mass,
that atomiser of bearings.

Deep, umbered ruts
join last parish of takings to next,
tracing at a distance around the jutted curve

of far, bright oak,
where bricks of sun
are still being called to assemble
and rise, unseen, by faith.

5960. wabbit - 10/17/2007 1:41:14 AM

I'm finding the various interpretations of Nu's Monster poem very interesting. I read it as wistful, but not hopeful, regretting the loss of the wild, free, open imagination of childhood that created the monsters in the first place, and that would allow the painting to happen. Regret for all the things in life we leave undone or unsaid, out of fear of failure or rejection or criticism that we can no longer stomach. And fear that we will never again be brave enough to face that failure or criticism.

5961. alistairconnor - 10/17/2007 10:25:54 AM

Haywain
Where you goin' with that pitchfork in your hand?
(badum badum dum)

5962. wabbit - 10/17/2007 4:15:00 PM

Haywain, that's what I sometimes call one of my closest friends and favorite people in the world. Naturally, his response is "Constable."

5963. alistairconnor - 10/17/2007 4:50:19 PM

I was thinking more of the Bosch. Though it's crawling with people, angels and demons. Unlike Seamus's poem, which is modern, mechanised and almost mineral. I confess I don't get the symbolism, bricks of sun, faith.

5964. wabbit - 10/17/2007 6:05:11 PM

I found a website called Hay In Art, with this essay that you might find interesting. Check out the Hay Poetry, too.

5965. Seamus - 10/17/2007 10:58:09 PM

HayAC, what pitchfork? Oh you mean this ol' thang? Forgot I'd picked it up...sorry 'bout that.

5966. Seamus - 10/17/2007 10:59:53 PM

Love the link, wabbit, thx!

yers in perpetual hayseedity, S

5967. Seamus - 10/18/2007 11:15:43 PM

While I've got the pitchfork in hand, I'll post the revision I've come to thus far. (I won't post any more of them, I promise!) It's been suggested I lose or replace "impediment" and "atomiser" as being too beyond the diction of the rest. Probably good advice--I am thinking on it. Anyway, thanks for reading.


Hay wagons at sunset

All day, cathedrals have grown
out of blocks of hay
planed and stacked
from the second cutting.

Slow duskings
of wheeled fortresses circle
the proven fields.

Thick with the shaved and seated,
the nearest moans low
under its impediment mass,
that atomiser of bearings.

Deep, umbered ruts
join one parish of takings to next—
until they line at last behind the jutted arc

of far, haloed oak,
where bricks of sun are still being called
to assemble and rise, unseen,
by a faith still bright.

5968. wabbit - 10/19/2007 12:44:52 AM

I know I haven't commented much in this thread, my personal life has been...well, it has been sucking ass, to put it mildly. But time helps, and things slowly get better. I may not always comment, since someone else invariably posts my sentiments and puts it better than I ever could, but I do read this thread and very much appreciate the poets here.

So, darling Seamus, what do you mean, you won't post any more revisions? We *love* reading revisions, please keep posting whatever changes you make.

For those who may, like me, be comparison challenged:

5969. TheWizardOfWhimsy - 10/19/2007 1:51:13 AM

I wish I wasn't lexdysic . . . and afraid to misread a poem then making a fool of myself . . . other than making a fool of myself in my normal, standard way of impatiently reading and missing a crucial point.

5970. NuPlanetOne - 10/19/2007 2:07:07 AM

alistair..

To disagree midly, having loved the 'bricks of sun', which is powerful, I think it makes the whole deal really. To not get all the symbolism is no sin at all, because it must be said that our talented bricklayer, Signore Seamus, has mastered that art quite nicely. And the nice thing about symbolism is that it's just another meaning holding up the walls and windows of the words themselves. Even if the symbols hold the truth of the matter, he has learned to leave the clues in fabulous metaphors. That's the trick. Don't try it at home. I have always understood the tweaking and the architect as a neccessary catharsis. The point is, though, that 'mechanised and mineral' is apt. I like that description, because after all, what Seamus attempts oft times is very difficult structure. It has a somewhat smooth old world feel, yet as you pointed out, 'modern' because, I think, it is fresh. Now you continue to sit quietly in the corner, Seamus, like you're not there. Also, alistair, one does not even have to follow the comparison to Bosch, you described our friend's style so well as to detail exactly what it is not. Very nice.

5971. alistairconnor - 10/19/2007 9:49:34 AM

OK, that final verse is starting to penetrate, I feel a bit less stupid. When I say I'm years from writing poetry, I'm keenly aware that I'll have to learn to read first.

I think that what amused me in the comparison with Bosch is that I have the feeling that Seamus's poem is crawling with angels and demons that I can't see. But the visual imagery and the splendid sonority are quite enough anyway.

5972. Seamus - 10/19/2007 8:59:34 PM

The parable of spinach

So many kind things said to respond to, but more than anything I want to speak to AC and Wiz in particular about something that is quite important to me. My wanting to bring this up is based on a common element in what each of you have said in Message # 5969 and Message # 5971.

The parable comes from my admittedly overworked reading of the famous "New Yorker" cartoon drawn by Carl Rose and supposedly captioned by E. B. White in which a mother is trying to gently coax her child to try a particularly dodgy-looking new vegetable.

The mother says:

"It’s broccoli, dear."

The child, quite adult in reply, says:

"I say it’s spinach, and I say the hell with it."

It doesn't matter one bit that the authority figure, the mother, is trying to assure the other that hers is the proper way to think of the vegetable being considered--the child names the reality as the child see it.

And that will be it.

First, I am NOT saying that either of you are in any way being childlike.

What I *am* trying to say is that, at least on my account, neither of you has any reason to avoid calling something "spinach" when spinach is what you see.

I will never consider either of you a "fool" or "stupid" for what you say or how you say it over something I've written. I'll never think that the fault is yours if a poem I've written is something you aren't "getting" or "liking". I'd rather hear about it from you. It's quite selfish of me, but your comments above are helpful in that regard.

What you "get" is what is there for you to get. You bring things to the poem and the poem brings things to you. The sum is always different according to the reader. There is not some potential barrier to entry in this, some hidden test that only a fraternity of insiders know the key to. It had best not work that way, and if it does, it is news to me and I want off that crazy ride. (Here's a little fraternal secret I *will* admit to--most poems bring less to the mix than the majority of readers do. It's true for my own, and I think, true for the vast majority of poems in general.)

Wiz, I am guessing you feel similarly about the works of art you create as well as those you admire from others. As long as I gave it a well-meaning consideration, I doubt you would ridicule me if I looked and saw a red tomato when everyone who is anyone knows it's the sun!

You cannot possibly do me a greater honour than wading into something I've written. Do you think I'd ever repay such generosity by being churlish? Even if I'd the personality to do, how long would that work out for me?

I'm further guessing I speak for others here as well, including Nu and Rick and, well everyone, past (sigh) and present. I know these people...we are alike...we know that when you look in our direction it is with good intentions. We are gratified that you look; we are not going to "grade" you on how it is you react.

AC, you have always been a fantastic bellweather and judge for me. I hope you don't ever again feel constrained to say you just don't get something, you just don't like something. If you see spinach, it is useful for me to hear that.

Said with respect, always.

Poetry