my impression of Your poem is a wheel of life coupled with a tree, of knowledge. It is as if i could almost hear the cold icy breath of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata flowing visually as wavelets painted by Monet. It conveys a sense of eternity.
Thank you obe. I always loved the Moonlight Sonata. … beautiful. Do you want to know something? After having read what you wrote, I can see that. Perhaps it was my subconcious speaking. Some of it actually was to be read “tongue in cheek”…a kind of mockery of sorts to the endurance of romantic love. lol
I remember Rainy once saying that we ought not to explain our poems to others. After all, the beauty of a poem is what a person reads into it, just like in a painting or in the verses of the bible.
It does convey a sense of eternity, at least a sense of a desire for eternity or continuity or eternal reoccurrence.
Thanks again, obe.
I love to write.
Yes, I would like that Stuart when you have the time. I am to learn.
Also, I don’t quite like the title I gave to the poem. It was almost like a fleeting thought but I’m not content with it.
Obe once told me something similar, though I think his implication was more that if we are to explain our poems it must be done consistently and with certainty. I wasn’t in agreement, I guess I still have doubts.
I tend to agree with you, Stuart. I don’t think that consistency and certainly would leave much room for change of conscious thought/feelings and personal awareness. I think that a poem is a living breathing thing, the meaning and essence which is capable of changing. Just like I said above about the biblical verses, we all come from different places and our experiences and what words convey can be quite different to all of us. Why, I might read this poem in a few weeks and something different will occur to me. Obe didn’t sense my tongue in cheek attitude about romantic love, maybe because he is not as jaded as I am about romantic love…in some instances.
I tend to agree with you, Stuart. I don’t think that consistency and certainly would leave much room for change of conscious thought/feelings and personal awareness. I think that a poem is a living breathing thing, the meaning and essence which is capable of changing. Just like I said above about the biblical verses, we all come from different places and our experiences and what words convey can be quite different to all of us. Why, I might read this poem in a few weeks and something different will occur to me. Obe didn’t sense my tongue in cheek attitude about romantic love, maybe because he is not as jaded as I am about romantic love…in some instances.
Yes i remember once implying that.but==the inference was that in the beginning.........it is important to anchor the premiss, the starting point has to be at least foreshadowed otherwise the skeleton of the structure may not hold the meat of it together. It is true the meaning of it may be deeply hidden, but it is poetry's job to go as deep as possible, even at the cost of having to dig for it. In poetry,par excellence, the flights of apparent fancy attempt to do the opposite from prose, they try to integrate a field of uncertainty and chaos, by the use of metaphor which may only connect with the hidden motif in the same allusions of uncertainty in which field appears embedded.
But as unaccessible as it presents the symbols with which it yearns to go there, it needs hold out promising channels, for to acquire the very basic vision of it’s representation. Otherwise it may not work.
Up to that point, repetition of theme usually recurs, albeit in new, more integrated forms, and this hiddenness , creates some effect of consistency. This consistency is unlike the ego consistency they talk about in psychology, it’s tacit, hiddenness changes as it constantly reintegrates with new elements brought into it.
In painting, adding new colors to existing ones on the canvas, create different effects, depending on when they are applied. Waiting too long, the new color will cover the old one. Applying it too soon will mix too readily, creating predictable mixes. The trick is,to apply new elements in accordance to simulate the intended effect and depth.
The late Henry Miller was an amateur painter, and he recounted an episode, where he started sea scape, and kept adding more and more colors, without waiting a sufficiently lapsed time, and in the end he was left with a blob of smeared objects. This is in no way any reference to any other Smears, or any other young man as an artist, it’s simply an indication of organization can be compressed and compacted to give the impression of consistency within free flow. The reader usually likes to refer to a saturated area of comprehension, where reference will give credence, irrespective of subsequent loose associations.
The rest will fall into place, the waning as much appreciated,as it’s coming to light from the depth.The depth is cavernous, hidden, dark and damp with the memory of those fallen, trying to emerge. It’s a dreary unromantic journey, for the poem to be born out of the most hidden accesses , and lest it be not forgotten, that romance is splashed with the untold urgency, for the symbols to take on new life.
Thank you ierrellus. I appreciate that you like my haikus. I somehow enjoy the haiku - it’s like slowly painting in easy soft pastel movements though it isn’t always the easier poem for me. I felt that this poem was kind of an open book but perhaps it’s just because I know what my musings and my thoughts were, what I was experiencing in the moments. Haiku for me is almost like a moment of reverie or a walk in the rain to nowhere. Hard to explain. Perhaps poetry ought not to be self-based. I remember once reading someone’s words - they said that art is not supposed to be subjective but objective - for the people. Well, it is for the people but it is self-based I think.
I’d disagree. Art is firstly subjective. If it’s good, it will approach objectivity. The message is first for you; then, it can enlarge into a message for others. Your haiku poem does just that.
And after that, the Zen of experience can be had, everything will become, as a brushstroke, enclosing within it a vanishing trace of opposites, of a dialectic of feeling, knowledge, fear, self, shame, their opposites, which create new things, and again in opposition and in blend. Everything but the barest outline remains, and even then that, as burning, scarlet phosphorus dissolves into a total azure. After this, nothing but total silence, again awoken by simple giggle and chatter of children. Then after long repose, and the emergence of a pure understanding.
This too, for a while then supplanted by a very long and howling laughter.
Some of it actually was to be read “tongue in cheek”…a kind of mockery of sorts to the endurance of romantic love. lol
