It is my own words that fail to inspire me.
They do not travel far enough to reach
the land of tall medicine and dark thieves;
they wait instead in formations of solitude,
railroad tracks beneath a passing train.
The odds were stacked against me from the beginning.
Never one to gamble, I threw my money down
without thought of loss or gain.
Smelling salts nestled in crystal containers,
there for the feint of heart.
It was the calm gesturing of the village idiot
that captured me at last, rendering us still.
The sword, at last turned inward,
caused the eyeballs to roll in their wide fibrous sockets.
His shaking hands reminded me
that killing isn’t criminal when the intent is pure.
Only then did I embrace my own muteness,
all sense of truth or knowledge seen for what it is:
a fence forcing me backwards, iron-spiked;
the sentry gazing into the whiteness of a vast field...
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James M. Emmerling
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So much to think about in this first line.... Maybe even too much.
I have always looked to others for inspiration - finding little!
Thank you for your post.
Hello again! Looks like you must have been off at some super-duper seminar on how to be a world-class poet (ess)...perhaps you were teaching it...
Blazing stuff, being put under the microscope...
I shall be back...
(back atcha: "more, please, mum")
Jim
I'm sure you see the fencing metaphors here...the "feint" in (ha) "feint of heart"...a false appearance, a deceptive maneuver, like the movement in fencing...
then the sword itself, now turned inward...then "fence", iron spiked, forcing you backward (as your "sense of truth and knowledge")
fencing...gambling, too! though your heart isnt in it, obviously, if you'rethrowing yr money down w/o thought of gain...
my friend told me (just yesterday) that his dad told him if you want to be a Romeo, son, learn fencing...i.e. competition with other men for women...
fencing, a bullshit sport or game, right? nobody gets hurt...gambling....says : "competition", by skill or luck....that's the world...here in the Northeast everyone & his uncle are going to the damn indian casinos...
but the sword is turned inward: the game or sport is now an intra-personal affair...the eyes roll, (like an idiot's)...bespeaking to me a major change...of perspective, of rejection, disgust of what is seen..this, caused by the appearance of
the village idiot...calmly gesturing, capturing you...no: you say , "us" here...you introduce the first person plural...the only "we" in the poem...and a most unexpected thing: a justification of violence...murder, in fact!
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The idiot is what?...mute? or a Dostoyevskian idiot, a Prince Myshkin, a soul who cannot lie nor fail to do good,but is
nonetheless destroyed by society...when he faces
the truth, the accumulated knowledge of society...the iron spiked fence that pushes the poetess back...the idiot has taught her to embrace her muteness, after turning her sword inward to do....inner battle, i guess..
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the two toughest images for me, and i think they are key, are the smelling slats in the crystal containers, and the sentry (guarding? or denying access to?) the the (beautiful? terrifying?) whiteness of the vast field...
tho i loved the quip on "feint"...
i could of course go on & on and as i did i'd get deeper into your poetic universe...and i shall...but for now....well, my computer is acting up & i'm losing comments i try t o leave
so i must push "post this comment" cuz i dont think i could rewrite all this...
later...
ja, sometimes my words inspire me and sometimes blah, they disgust me...depends on the company, doesn't it? words that are intersubjectively ineffectual fail to self-inspire, because an important aspect of self, as any transpersonalist knows and believes (but alas cannot FEEL always)
is ..um, Collective Self, Overself, Uberself, whatever...communal self...self that is communing...
getting way off toppic here, as usual for me: but dont you think the language needs a complete overhaul, less nouns, alot more "ing" verbs...hm..
adieu
that captured me at last, rendering us still..."
lovely... Rated! (you've got a great smoothness of thought)
James, your words and careful looking at what might "lie beneath" these symbols that my psyche spews forth are like water unto my poet's soul; I have no words in return to properly thank you for the time and energy you give to these small works of mine; therefore I send my solitary muteness instead, aka (to quote myself - and why shouldn't I?! -), words-as-railroad-tracks (minus the "clickety-clack"). Such "deep looking" as you are capable of can truly save a life, including the life of one's soul, which to me, is one and the same.
Getting back to reality....I almost forgot! My favorite metaphor in yr poem: words as train tracks...ever so carefully laid & kept up...for the sake of the roaring loco-motive above...what could be the train that your words carry?
Thanks for yr thanks...Jim
"Diana is still the essence of the goddess from antiquity. She is still the powerful aspect and protectress of women, the lady of the beasts who reminds us that we are all creatures of the grove, sewn with its inhabitants, from the same cloth. As the Romans became increasingly urban, so too, have we veered from our rustic roots; the fragile sway of nature replaced with concrete, metal and commerce. Our relentless contemporary journey is affixed to the rationalization of progress, yet we often find ourselves hindered by a habituated yearning for the unkept innocence of the wild. Women in antiquity particularly understood Diana’s importance in their lives and honored Her ability to reconnect them with nature. They understood Diana’s indomitable force that is the central thrust of the living experience and the equable law in the human realm. The refuge of Diana’s domain served to placate the sometimes chaotic fragment of existence, still so fleeting in its perceptions and extent. Diana’s fervent arrows continue to reign down upon us, inevitably luring us into the lost wilderness that was once our home; a poignant habitat from where the luxuries of the earth continue to sift in unpretentious consummation. " http://www.religioromana.net/dii_consentes/diana.htm
The above seems to segway into the thread going on over at "Being With The Storm" - doesn't it?(.)
especially "the land of tall medicine and dark thieves"
I love the ethereal ambiguity of "formations of solitude"
You have a marvelous sense of words.
p.s. smoothness of thought is poetically appropros, MM!
The odds were stacked against me from the beginning.
Never one to gamble, I threw my money down
without thought of loss or gain.
Smelling salts nestled in crystal containers,
there for the feint of heart.
M.A.H. - Thanks for taking the time to read and reflect. He did have a daugher, Lyubov - I am not sure what became of her. And speaking of Dostoevsky and children: "As an adult, Dostoevsky became fascinated with children, but was extremely affected by the suffering they were often forced to endure. As a result, the theme of children became "one of the most important in his portrayal of society" and he became obsessed with the theme of "children on the road to destruction"(p.572, Grossman). The charming children in his novels possess a simple, vulnerable, and innocent nature which highlights the contrasting, cruel society. In dealing with these cruelties, the children must gain strength and learn to sacrifice themselves in order to withstand these burdens; if their purity and fragile innocence is harmed, however, they often chose to put an end to their hardships and commit suicide." http://community.middlebury.edu/~beyer/courses/previous/ru351/studentpapers/Children.shtml
weird parallel to my miserable stint on Earth so far. I seem to have been "sacriced" for the sake of children, as we all ina sense are..."its all for the children, blah, blah"". Maybe it explains my savage glee
in writing that...funny little piece on poor Michael......I will NEVER subscribe to a universe where innocence is snuffed out.....i never have....i am more homicidal in my rage
against society, the more i learn its ways.....
jim
someday everyone will be inspired by every little thing coming out of yr mouth,
if i have anything to do with it...
\
James