To feel a firm saturating warmth, confident and steady
Entangling my hair into a mirage of knuckly sheaths of comfort and scruff
Gently tethered in velvet and smooth azure
Tiptoeing the outskirts of self-visceral borders
A niche without wrists choked underneath ticks or chimes
Only loosely taking up space among books, broken-in pillowcases, and hand stitched quilts
The bright feeling of home—
when the plow's upheaval of dust rendered recrudescent blossom and blush
An estival reminiscence and wild piquant lingering of
gummed fingerprints inked sweetly in blood drops, purple sap, and pulp—
Tis' the faint scent of an innate niave's dwelling
Though neither-one a yellowish owning or belonging nor unfitting endearings
But perhaps an embracing intermission, a restful unwinding
Fore I shall never be bound to willfully peer out from behind iron shafts or stone
See, while wings and beaks have need for the nutrition of seed,
will consequently rise up and expand itself eventually
Albeit, I may find myself nesting in gusty willows alone...but weeping, no!
Instead, you'll find me making love to lusty experiences and philosophy,
Yet, to have cherished tresses encouraged and combed—for unclasped hands I would return
-Susie E.
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21 comments:
"See, while wings and beaks have need for the nutrition of seed,
will consequently rise up and expand itself eventually
Albeit, I may find myself nesting in gusty willows alone...but weeping, no!
Instead, you'll find me making love to lusty experiences and philosophy,
Yet, to have cherished tresses encouraged and combed—for unclasped hands I would return"
I like this part- it's very uplifting.
=)))). I've constantly been rewording this!! I can't figure out if it is exuding the emotion I want. So, thanks!
"Fore I shall never be bound to willfully peer out from behind iron shafts or stone"
If I've interpreted this bit right- you're saying that you won't let yourself be constrained or imprisoned- it's described very nicely.
Thanks! And yeah...you got it exactly. I can't believe it, someone gets it!! None of my friends understand! So that makes you pretty high up in the "Susie Book".
"So that makes you pretty high up in the "Susie Book"."
Another of my life's ambitions fulfilled. :)
LMAO. You are a smart-ass!!
It's all part of my natural charm.
Susie,
I hesitate to post this, not least because however many times I re-read it I’m not sure if it makes any sense, and yet: for goodness sake, let’s plow on, isn’t it?
Anyway, I’m a definite klutz when it comes to poetry, though, in a an effort to learn, I am currently hugely enjoying Stephen Fry’s The Ode Less Travelled. This in itself is a clue: I’m a bit of a structure (or a “but WHY does that work?) nut, [as anyone who has been terminally bored enough to visit my blog will realize] so while I have an interest in how villanelles and the various forms of odes work, I’m less au fait in how to break (or bend, or dispense with) these rules (I’m still learning to applaud walking before I try and appreciate those who know how to run, if you will!) :)
Anyway: your line in “Untamed Tethering”, Yet, to have cherished tresses encouraged and combed—for unclasped hands I would return conjures up very personal images when I read it, and, to some extent, I’m loathe to tell you what they are, as they’re almost certainly different to what you intended, or had in mind when you wrote these lines…But that’s (to some extent) the point: is a song, or poem, “complete” until a third party has interpreted or considered it? And does what they think of it matter? Or do each reader’s (very personal) experiences only add to the poet’s intention?
Mark_W
Mark_W,
Thank you for reading and then also re-reading this poem, or as you would call, “Ode.” There are TONS of ways to write poetry!!! I have seen “proper” poems and crazy nonsense—which at times are good. It is all dependent on your mood and to what you, yourself, can relate too. Perhaps that is why I love writing and reading poetry. I am not confined in explaining yet free to show.
Everyone I know has defined images in their heads with adjectives of emotions. Such as one’s first time making love or having sex. Or maybe you have a loved one that you remember in certain mental pictures. For example, my Nana, when listening to someone, would spread her lips open just enough so one could see her teeth ever so slightly clench. To me, I knew this meant she was listening and waiting to interject her opinion. Now, I ask you, how many people would understand a verse like:
“Teeth awaiting to unclench and shape reality to better things, her ideals in those
slit lips”
(Just made up by the way) I’ll use the term, “you,” for the purpose of demonstrating my point. So happens, you had a girl friend who constantly tried to change you and this was very frustrating. One day, you happened on this verse and, to you, validated how you felt. Or maybe you had a daughter with a cleft lip and you related to this verse in a completely different way.
So, I will repeat your words, “But that’s (to some extent) the point.” In my poetry, yes, I leave plenty of room for interpretation, as well as, release what I feel. I am thrilled to hear what another being translated or related to from any of my poems, even if extraordinarily different; fore if they took anything away from a verse created from brain, fingers, emotions, and life experiences—my split blood—then it feels extra special, as if I have been able to be a catalyst (I love that word, catalyst) in evoking the feeling of what it means to be understood, share, and/or connect! Perhaps many times on an intimate level. Plus, someone liking your writing—sweat, tears, and joys—always validates and encourages me to continue digging around within for pure self honesty and reflection. I believe that is what Dawkins refers to as, “Spirituality,” verses religion (or so I have related ;)).
To answer your question, “…is a song, or poem, “complete” until a third party has interpreted or considered it?” That depends. If it is made public purposely by its author, then obviously, no, it would not be complete until another has either subjectively or objectively read it. Very awesome question! Another pondering to tuck away into my “happen on” file.
Second, “And does what they think of it matter? Or do each reader’s (very personal) experiences only add to the poet’s intention?” I think it matters to the poet to how much weight they stock into a specific individual’s translation or opinion. If Anna Akhmatova suddenly arose from the dead and liked my poetry…I would be overwhelmingly pleased. On the other hand, if she thought it was shit I may be devastated—of course, it would depend on the poem =) (to answer that third question).
If you are reading a poem, chances are you will not understand it completely unless it is point blank and highly structured for objectivity. In other words, they wrote with the intention of closing off any interpretation. Again, depending on certain poems, there are probably different levels in which a poet would allow for personal interpretation. Now that you have me thinking, I suppose a good poet could control this with great skill and vocabulary. Although, if you ask me, sense everyone has a past that makes up their reality, most things can be miss understood. Which is why a writer will always be improving and a masterpiece of literature could always be “better”. Yet, don’t you think it is in the imperfection of in the creator’s art that makes its worth? For, if the writer was perfect, how could he/she write with such clarity to the imperfect? It’s an endless cycle, yes?
To me, when I feel the need to write a poem it comes on suddenly or with an inspiring event. I will endlessly look for music to set the mood and meditate on the feeling and the random images that conjures. Then, I’ll discover my point and why or what I feel. For instance:
“The bright feeling of home—
when the plow's upheaval of dust rendered recrudescent blossom and blush
An estival reminiscence and wild piquant lingering of
gummed fingerprints inked sweetly in blood drops, purple sap, and pulp—
Tis' the faint scent of an innate niave's dwelling”
This section has now become one of my favorite creations. The reason lies within my recent past and my current life (for which to understand the author’s connotations I highly think one would have to know their history and sympathize to some degree). I’ll simply ask you a question: “What do remember about the feeling of ‘belonging’ when you were a child?” I await your reply. As for me, it was the sense of a secure ‘dwelling’. So safe in fact that I didn’t even have to contemplate if I had a safe home or not. I was loved and accepted and I knew where home was. It is an inborn mindless knowing. I don’t know if there is a real way to describe it. Funny but true, you could fart and be hugged and not think twice about rejection…maybe a bit of giggling. Anyway, the image invoked was picking blackberries during summer vacation as a child. I related the thorns of the blackberry bush to the blood drops on the fingertips but also to the “scars” one get awaiting the next phase of growth…i.e. after summer is the next grade. I thought of ‘inking’ the ‘fingerprints’ as evidence of who I was and am—what things hath made me. But all of these types of moments of joys and lessons in my life (sweets are definitely one of them) happened because I had the innate sense of security of “home”.
Of course the poem is really about finding a partner. After my divorce from quite an awful marriage—I have found myself again. I don’t want to lose myself again and would rather be alone than with someone who wants to mold me to his reality of me…I want to be the definer. My hair (and my eyes, but no one better touch my eyeball, it’s weird) is one of my most treasured features, therefore it is intimate to me personally. I’ll let you figure the rest out ;)
I’ve never really learned the “standards” for poetry’s structure. Probably because I started doing it when I was young for the very reason I didn’t think “it” had to have proper structure. As you may predict, I suck at grammer and spelling—I never got pass 9th grade English or graduated from high school. I can honestly say, “Poetry saved my intelligence and my college English grades.” Though my American standards of English are much better presently, I still think I am handicapped in basic grammar and spelling. However, what I have learned has actually freed me to express myself more meaningfully and with more clarity. I completely have a “new” appreciation and understanding for it when making sense of any particular topic I happen to write or read! American English really is suffering when I can write a more coherent sentence than my boss with a Master’s in nursing. So give me all the pointers you got…communicating more effectively is always a good thing ;)
AND OF COURSE, IF YOU WANT TO SHARE THE PERSONAL IMAGES THE LAST VERSE SPOKE I WOULD ABSOLUTELY LOVE TO HEAR IT!!! You would not offend me in the least. However, if you meant you abhor sharing your personal interpretation by all means—I’m just glad you got something from it!!
Thank you again for taking a read! I am truly honored!
Susie E.
Susie,
Thank you for responding in such a thought provoking way…
Can I just say at the outset that the re-reading I did because I “wasn’t sure if it made sense” referred entirely to my comment, and certainly not (though I have re-read it) to “Untamed Tethering” (and, as an aside, the more I think about it, the more I am struck that this is a great title…)
Anyhoo.
or as you would call, “Ode”
Oh dear, I did sound a bit at times as if I was typing from the 18th century, didn’t I? :)
The “teeth” example is a great demonstration of the way different readers might bring different interpretations to bear on texts…
What started me thinking on this question of “is a poem (or story, or whatever) finished until a third party has read it?” was a piece by famous critic John Clute who once said the only review he could remember of one of his own novels was by someone who had got what he had in mind entirely wrong. Rather than be upset by this, he was delighted, as it proved to him his story had “left home.” This idea that no two copies of a book (or poem, or whatever) are the same, because each reader will, through the creative act of reading them, make of them something entirely new, is one I find rather lovely, not least because, as a lover of books, the idea that they are somehow living or organic things really appeals to me…(To move back to the religious questions we were discussing on Philip’s blog, the fact that there are innumerable interpretations of any “holy” text gives weight to this “as many interpretations as there are readers” theory.)
And I agree entirely that spirituality is possible without religion…
Yet, don’t you think it is in the imperfection of the creator’s art that makes its worth? For, if the writer was perfect, how could he/she write with such clarity to the imperfect? It’s an endless cycle, yes?
Yes! Absolutely. I fear this is another point where I was (to pick a favourite word of we chess enthusiasts) “unclear”.
One of things I like about poetry is that, in contrast to science writing, of which I’m also a fan, “clarity” is not so much of a virtue (or, at least, and perhaps better, it means a different thing than it does in a science text). What I like about a good poem is that the images it conjures up are more nebulous and personal than what goes on your head when reading (say) one of Richard Dawkins’s science pieces (as marvelous (in a different way) as they undoubtedly are...)
“The bright feeling of home—
when the plow's upheaval of dust rendered recrudescent blossom and blush
An estival reminiscence and wild piquant lingering of
gummed fingerprints inked sweetly in blood drops, purple sap, and pulp—
Tis' the faint scent of an innate niave's dwelling”
This is awesome. Like you, this conjures up for me the “mindless knowing of belonging.” I was fortunate enough to have an exceedingly happy childhood, and “The bright feeling of home” brings all that back (and, by the way, what a brilliant phrase!), although (in relation to what we were discussing above regarding individual interpretation) the details are different. For me, the “gummed fingerprints inked sweetly in blood drops” bring back memories of making scrap books rather than fruit picking, and the reference to “pulp” and “scent” recall my parents’ incredible indulgence in tolerating me trying to make cider with apples I’d collected…(And, as a divorced person myself, the other, darker, subtext you mention isn’t lost on me either—I can understand why this is one of your favourites…)
And of course if you want to share the personal images the last verse spoke I would of absolutely love to hear it!!
Again, this is a place I where I fear I have expressed myself rather badly. It’s not so much that I don’t want to, as that the images these lines provoked were where rather dreamlike, and hard to express, as they combined certain explicit things (certainly the hair of someone from “tresses”) with, as I’d recently been reading the “prayer” thread on Philip’s blog the image of “unclasped” hands as ones not in prayer, into something that, like a dream, hinted at clarity, and flashbacks to certain events, without manifesting itself into something completely obvious. Which is what I like about poems...If I can find a way of expressing myself more clearly about this example in particular, I’ll come back to this…
Finally:
Thank you again for taking a read! I am truly honored!
Pish and tush, I’ve enjoyed thinking about this for an evening, the honour is mine, and apologies that this is an essay rather than a blog comment… :)
Mark_W
Mark_W-
"One of things I like about poetry is that, in contrast to science writing, of which I’m also a fan, “clarity” is not so much of a virtue (or, at least, and perhaps better, it means a different thing than it does in a science text). What I like about a good poem is that the images it conjures up are more nebulous and personal "
I definitely agree with that. The funny thing about poetry (says the guy who's only been writing for two weeks) is that sometimes you can think you're saying one thing, putting things in a certain way, but a reader might have an entirely different perspective.
Even better is when someone reads your poem and takes a metaphor that you used into a direction that you had never thought of, as Susie did with "Prayer of a true believer". That's one of the rewarding things about poetry writing, I think.
Quetz,
Absolutely. (And, by the by, especially if you’ve only been at for a fortnight, I Am/Not, is a splendid piece of work. I particularly like, “I am both God and Satan,/But I believe in neither”. It reminds of some passages I read in a novel many years ago which I no longer have, and which (rather irritatingly) can no longer remember the details of. I still have in the sort of diary I went through a phase of keeping while I was at school (and which, for some mad reason, I have never thrown away) a couple of passages that I wrote down, though my younger self was sadly not as rigorous as his older version is in keeping a proper set of attributions! Anyway: “There is something,” he said, “between the fancies of poets and the biting, and the rooting and sniffling of beasts.” / “What?” I asked. / “Man,” he said…
And
“The human being is a chaos of cruelties and nobilities, of hatreds and loves, of resentments and respects, of envies and admirations. He contains within himself, in his ferments, much that is base and much that is worthy…”)
I like your idea of a reader taking things in an individual direction, too.
As an example, as a cricket fan, I am particularly fond of Francis Thompson’s absurdly (and yet brilliantly) overly nostalgic At Lords:
For the field is full of shades as I near a shadowy coast,
And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost,
And I look through my tears on a soundless-clapping host
As the run-stealers flicker to and fro,
To and fro:
Oh my Hornby and my Barlow long ago!
Though at first sight this conjures up entirely explicit images of cricketing ghosts (even down to the naming of the players!), to me it brings flooding back memories of the ad-hoc and often rather silly versions of cricket I played in the evenings of my university years, with people only a select few of which I have even so much as seen in the past decade and a half; so the “Hornby” and “Barlow” when I read this, despite being so concrete and explicit, are actually very far from being the actual historical Hornby and Barlow the poet had in mind…
Blast, I’m in danger of writing an essay, again!
Mark_W
Mark_W,
Your excerpt from your notebook as a younger man: "'There is something,' he said, “between the fancies of poets and the biting, and the rooting and sniffling of beasts.” / “What?” I asked. / “Man,” he said…'
I have no words to express the profoundity these stir within me. I am shocked and feel honored to be allowed to contain these beautifully savage and honest, thought provoking quotes from the author in my comment section on my itty bitty blog. Just, wow. I am literally (pun intended)blown away! You should be proud of those "odes".
Would you care if I posted your blog in my links section?
Phooey on the "short" comments. I look forward to thinking. There is nothing else like the moments in which a previous clarity becomes muddled and striped in and from your mind to only piece back together to unclutter parts of the massive lump of confusion residing in my brain. It is another kind of adrenaline rush for which my neurophysiological pathways are addicted. You can now be called a pusher-man...ha ha. Kidding, of course!
It is interesting to see your personal experience with this poem. Though similar, apple cider and scrap booking is not what I had in mind! It is a wonderful way to hear what was shared between you and my now "organic" poem. VERY COOL, INDEED!!
I have taken a gander at your blog and am in the middle of forming a response. I do apologize for the delayed reply. Hospital hours are gruesome, leaving little room for a life on the particular days that I am there.
Jonathan,
So TRUE my lord! How have you been these days?
Oops, I forgot to show the second quote by Mark_W's for which I was pleasantly taken aback. I shall post it here to clear up any confusion:
"The human being is a chaos of cruelties and nobilities, of hatreds and loves, of resentments and respects, of envies and admirations. He contains within himself, in his ferments, much that is base and much that is worthy…”)
Thank you again for such penmanship
"So TRUE my lord! How have you been these days?"
I am well, Susie! Up to the usual stuff- wrote a new poem earlier this week which is up on my blog now. How is hospital life treating you?
Susie,
Thank you again for making me think, and for not minding long comments, as I fear I’m about, to some extent, to go off on one again…:)
Firstly:
I’m delighted that the quotes I gave above you found “beautifully savage and honest,” as this is exactly how I found them. (In fact, I could count on the fingers of less than one hand (or something!) the instances in which I think the word “savage” has been used aptly, but this is one of them—you’re very good, I think, at picking exactly the right word…:)) I only wish my younger self had been more adept at noting the author, as, much as I’d like to, I can’t take credit for either quote...I shall keep searching my collection and the interweb though, and give due credit as soon as I find it!
On a related note, please do link to my sorry excuse of a blog: I’m new to this interweb business, and though still slightly amazed that anyone should read my ravings, I’m yet (for obvious reasons to do with posting my thoughts at all!) delighted when such a thing happens...And don’t worry about the time—I work in the health services myself and well understand that time for blogs and so on is apt to arrive in infrequent and unpredictable bursts!
And, I shall certainly return the linking favour, if that’s OK, since I’ve been catching up on your own blog over the past couple of days, and wanted to say how much I think of:
I stand in awe at the end, thankful I can hurt! Yes. Thank this biological mystery that allows for the bitter twang of vulnerability; as were I to close its door, what would life offer? The passion I posses for all that encompass my existence has filled my body with joy and my days hope. Indeed, I have a need to share love. If this human condition exposes me to the possibility of pain from unreciprocating adoration, only then to be left alone and betrayed, then so be it! Emphatically I resign myself to the risk, gladly fling myself upon it. Fore, I have laughed a million times since.
This is marvelous, it puts me in mind, not only of my own experience, but of various country music truisms about how though one can very well stand outside the fire, if one does this, though one will never get burnt, it can get very cold: and yet you express this so much better than the likes of Garth “The Dance” Brooks and so on…
Again, from my own experience, “If this human condition exposes me to the possibility of pain from unreciprocating adoration, only then to be left alone and betrayed, then so be it! Emphatically I resign myself to the risk, gladly fling myself upon it.” is so splendid and so true, and so splendidly expressed.
You’re very good, and rather than keep commenting on the works of others, I think I might have to have a go myself, which is surely the best thing…;)
Mark_W
Susie,
As I hinted at in my last comment above, I have, like Jonathan, been inspired by your quite brilliant offerings here to have a go myself at this poetry thing. I’ve even made a start, to the extent of deciding what I want to write about and picking a title!
However, though knowing what I want to write about (a particular feeling I had on a particular night a particular number of years ago), and though I can still feel this feeling (hmmm, perhaps not expressing yourself particularly well here, Mark!) finding the words to express what this feeling felt like, in exactly the right way to give enough meaning to not be totally unclear but still allow for (as we’ve been discussing, individual interpretation) is bloody hard! How do you do it?!?! (Quetz: you’re the same, you write so much, in blog posts, stories, poems, novels, or whatever, and it’s all worth reading…)
Aho! I guess the answers are that
a] nothing worthwhile is easy (and, no less important, I’m really enjoying myself trying to find out if can find a way to express what I want to say), and that;
b] the pair of you, in your own ways, have a splendid natural gift, which, brilliantly, you are prepared to share with “journeyman” fellows like myself rather than hide yourself under the proverbial bushel. For which, genuinely, much thanks, and cheers!
Anyhoo.
As long as the cricket doesn’t distract me too much today, I’m off to try and work out how to say what I want to. I shall let you know how I get on!!!
Mark_W
Mark_W-
I'm going to attempt to impart some wisdom here (stand well back).
My advice is simple- don't try and force the words to come. What I do (and so this therefore may not be how it works for you, but I'll tell you anyway) is keep the "core idea" of the poem bouncing around in my head, thinking about it but not focussing too hard on it, if that makes sense. If I think of a good phrase, I write it down for later- a couple of my poems have formed around a few lines jotted down.
So that might be a good strategy to try, although obviously this has to be what works for you, so take what I say with a pinch of salt. In any case my advice is only partially useful since with some of my poems I had no intention of writing them until about a few minutes before I suddenly had an idea.
Anyway, the most important thing is to enjoy yourself, so you're on the right track!
Quetz,
Wise words and good advice!
I think you’ve got it right; keeping the "core idea" in mind is the key thing. At the moment, I’m enjoying myself attempting to write down what I want to say (often on a scrap of paper, or a notebook as you say), then looking back on it later and asking, "Does this actually relate to the core idea, though?" or, "If it doesn’t entirely, are there bits of it that do and are worth saving?"
I may or may not get there, but it’s fun finding out, and I’ll put the results up when I reach the "that’s as good as I personally can make it" point...
Cheers,
Mark_W
Susie-
going wildly off-topic for a moment, I like your new profile picture!
LOL. Thanks, that was taken 2 days ago at the Mud Pie (a local favorite). One of my friends called it my personal 'New Castle' commercial.
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