It's been a few weeks it seems, been meaning to reply but just waiting for the time and head space to do so with the respect the poem and your comments deserve. So alas ...
There is a surreal element and I applaud the author for this, he is tuned into something. You'd like my beloved Hrabal - with that in mind. He walked so well, this tightrope between prose and poetry (and the two are merging, however others don't see it, many prescient do). Of course, try Hrabal's Too Loud A Solitude but I like his last breaths in Total Fears - Letters to Dubenka.
Yet, I wouldn't call this high poetry, not for me. It lacks a grounding in the real, real references and symbols. I find the line breaks contrived and unnatural, without phonetic attention. I know absolutely nada about the author but alas, if I had to lay down a Benjamin Franklin, I'd say he's a product of our illustrious poet factory machine. It's well done but he needs to escape the greenhouse and dance outside in the real light.
Stream of consciousness is easy to imitate. But what's hard is to live it - that's the crux of the matter, poetry should usher from our experiences not just from our colorful animating imaginations. I am not too much a fan of Ginsberg, he also had a little of the pretender in him. However he got it right with his statment: “The only thing that can save the world is the reclaiming of the awareness of the world. That's what poetry does. By poetry I mean the imagining of what has been lost and what can be found—the imagining of who we are and the slow realization of it.” That's the rapture. And I do agree with the author, the rapture is always in front of you. Don't search, just open your eyes.
Thanks for responding to this David and taking your time. I love that last quotation from Ginsberg. It seems we can all agree, the rapture is always with us. I'll check out Hrabal. I hadn't heard of him.
I really enjoyed this, Deborah. It struck me as a powerful commentary on how much we tend to overlook in our obsession with technology, phones, and social media. People often present fake versions of themselves on these platforms, missing out on the genuine experiences happening around us. However, this man, who possesses very little, can truly see and absorb everything. He doesn't just look - he watches, he sees and he lives rather than exists. He is fully present in the world, experiencing life in all its beauty and its ugliness.
It took someone vulnerable and too often ignored or overlooked, to make this man with plenty to pause and truly learn to SEE what is right in front of him.
I spent most of COVID-19 volunteering at a homeless shelter in downtown Portland. I had many conversations with the guests who came to eat dinner. My heart and eyes were saddened by their traumas but they were also opened to their stories and their wisdom.
I love your take on this poem, Michael. Our obsession with trivial things rather than direct, raw, engagement with the world and each other. Saying the things we think others want to hear or what we think makes us look good or clever rather than what's in our hearts, which often makes us feel vulnerable. And how his encounter with this person who is truly raw and vulnerable pierces through that. You've articulated something I felt when reading this in a way that expands on that feeling. Thank you for sharing that. Beautifully expressed.
I love everything about this post, Deborah! The painting, the poem, your response, the poem, the painting…and all the visuals and feels in my mind and heart. I feel a rapture of being carried away reading this today. Thank you
Thank you Joyce. It's so good to hear that it struck you this way too. And you are right, it does take time to let it sink in, to work its magic. Answering with another poem, I'd love to hear that.
It's been a few weeks it seems, been meaning to reply but just waiting for the time and head space to do so with the respect the poem and your comments deserve. So alas ...
There is a surreal element and I applaud the author for this, he is tuned into something. You'd like my beloved Hrabal - with that in mind. He walked so well, this tightrope between prose and poetry (and the two are merging, however others don't see it, many prescient do). Of course, try Hrabal's Too Loud A Solitude but I like his last breaths in Total Fears - Letters to Dubenka.
Yet, I wouldn't call this high poetry, not for me. It lacks a grounding in the real, real references and symbols. I find the line breaks contrived and unnatural, without phonetic attention. I know absolutely nada about the author but alas, if I had to lay down a Benjamin Franklin, I'd say he's a product of our illustrious poet factory machine. It's well done but he needs to escape the greenhouse and dance outside in the real light.
Stream of consciousness is easy to imitate. But what's hard is to live it - that's the crux of the matter, poetry should usher from our experiences not just from our colorful animating imaginations. I am not too much a fan of Ginsberg, he also had a little of the pretender in him. However he got it right with his statment: “The only thing that can save the world is the reclaiming of the awareness of the world. That's what poetry does. By poetry I mean the imagining of what has been lost and what can be found—the imagining of who we are and the slow realization of it.” That's the rapture. And I do agree with the author, the rapture is always in front of you. Don't search, just open your eyes.
Thanks for responding to this David and taking your time. I love that last quotation from Ginsberg. It seems we can all agree, the rapture is always with us. I'll check out Hrabal. I hadn't heard of him.
I really enjoyed this, Deborah. It struck me as a powerful commentary on how much we tend to overlook in our obsession with technology, phones, and social media. People often present fake versions of themselves on these platforms, missing out on the genuine experiences happening around us. However, this man, who possesses very little, can truly see and absorb everything. He doesn't just look - he watches, he sees and he lives rather than exists. He is fully present in the world, experiencing life in all its beauty and its ugliness.
It took someone vulnerable and too often ignored or overlooked, to make this man with plenty to pause and truly learn to SEE what is right in front of him.
I spent most of COVID-19 volunteering at a homeless shelter in downtown Portland. I had many conversations with the guests who came to eat dinner. My heart and eyes were saddened by their traumas but they were also opened to their stories and their wisdom.
I love your take on this poem, Michael. Our obsession with trivial things rather than direct, raw, engagement with the world and each other. Saying the things we think others want to hear or what we think makes us look good or clever rather than what's in our hearts, which often makes us feel vulnerable. And how his encounter with this person who is truly raw and vulnerable pierces through that. You've articulated something I felt when reading this in a way that expands on that feeling. Thank you for sharing that. Beautifully expressed.
I love everything about this post, Deborah! The painting, the poem, your response, the poem, the painting…and all the visuals and feels in my mind and heart. I feel a rapture of being carried away reading this today. Thank you
I'm so glad, Barbara. That means a lot to me.
Beautiful beyond words, but the only way I could answer that is with a poem. That needs time, time to reflect, muse.
Thank you Joyce. It's so good to hear that it struck you this way too. And you are right, it does take time to let it sink in, to work its magic. Answering with another poem, I'd love to hear that.
Let’s wait and see what my mind can come up with.
Sounds good!