note: got a note back from a fellow would-be literattist just today (a bunch of us are in the process of workshopping material in a studio at the moment)... anyway, she's just written something in reply, so this is a collaborative work in progress now.
just thought i'd say that.
this crushing rain
a diaspora of fingers
there's a word yet
to be captured
which describes a mixture
of the irrefutable
and the sublime: a pastiche
of belief crowned
never said i
could forget to dream.
rather, the veins in my wrists reveal
an inner sanctum of worry—
of turquoise at sunset
— bare feet on crushed clover
my only religion—
(numbers patterns logic:
a faint wrinkle
to iron out
I loved this, riddles laden with cryptic utterances yet relevatory in their unfolding. As i said your abstract ways of saying things always grafts great beauty to your works, problem is that most times others cannot grasp these inner revelations and the work often seems more beautiful to the author than the audience, well sometimes atleast. This was amazing and as i say i can learn alot from your expressive format. This was awesome and i definitely loved it to the max!
When the soul has no energy for explanations, it's likely that no explanation will suffice precisely because such underlying meanings aren't built into the initial draft. Consequently, the bulk of the work will be very opaque because the desire to create over rode the sense to wait and recharge the batteries.
But isn't that what poetry often is, something open to interpretation?
ergo, these are my own philosophies given room to breathe. twenty seven because i'm twenty seven years old. this layout, because i'm scattered. diaspora and clutching because it's all so push and pull: these dynamics of life, how my life is right now. and truth: something only found in sleep as i continue to deny myself...
i could go on.
but i'm too tired.
and i hate explaining myself.
I think I need help from the poet on this one. What are you trying to achieve with your lay out of the words?
What is the connection between your title ("ergo" = therefore) and the poem?
What in fact in simple prose are you saying?
I'm really not trying to be critical or in any way unpleasant. I find that I like the feel of your poem immensely, but the sense eludes me.
Why 27 reasons precisely?
Why is something crowned with violent laughter?
I'm a simple soul. I need to know these things.
My only constructive comment at the moment in my state of incomplete comprehension is that the word "diaspora" doesn't go too well with "clutching". Diaspora is a dispersal and clutching is the opposite idea.