Hi Jim M.,
A contrarian take is always welcome. In fact, I gave one myself about this poem in my response to Ashley. As to navel gazing, I'm not quite ready to admit to a self-centeredness in the piece. Clutter is my key word in the poem. Rick is making the point that it would take one hell of a big thought to clutter all of space by itself, and as far as a strictly literal interpretation of my use of clutter in the singular, he's right. My thought though is that I was using the singular for poetic effect, to give the reader that moment of frisson where they realize hey, I have lots of thoughts that slip away too, just like the N, so many in fact, I can't count them, can't recall them, can't ever turn them into something tangible or memorable. I want the reader to realize how many thoughts not just of theirs but in the history of the world have slipped away. [as an aside, maybe one of them could have led to a cure for cancer, but that's a different poem]. Anyway, I intentionally avoided using thoughts in the plural. I wanted the reader to find the extent of that clutter on their own.
Much in your comment shows you found in the poem much of what I hoped could be found. I am waiting to find a better title. I don't like "void" because I want to avoid a nihilistic take. I chose "Existence" thinking of Descartes and
Cogito: ergo sum. Thinking, in that philosophical context, is what proves we exist. When the vital signs flatline and brainwaves show consciousness is lost, that thought is no longer possible, well it's time to say all in, and put your chips on the soul.
Thanks for the feedback on the em-dash. Ashley thought it might lend some emphasis to the borrowed Shakespeare, which I tried to give a little twist. I usually take your side though, that either you use proper punctuation all the way through or none
at all.
John suggested no title might be appropriate and that this small poem could be part of a greater whole. I think that corresponds with your take that this poem doesn't go far enough.
I realize you were wrangling with your own thoughts as you commented and I can fully appreciate that. Your insights are interesting and helpful, if not to this poem, then to others I may write later, if I remember them after forgetting to jot them down when I think of them, putting them at risk of slipping away. On the other hand, that may be one answer to resolving some of the clutter I add to the sphere.
All the best,
Jim R.
QUOTE=Jim Moonan;504065]
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I think the subject of thought is among the most challenging to address, and poetry might be the only art form that can do it justice. Thoughts are slippery, fleeting, persistent, obscure, arresting, reoccurring, conflicting, intrusive, unending, and on and on and on. They are ceaseless. Even in our sleep we continue to churn them out. Bob Dylan said, "Thought will fuck you up", and in saying that, he redefined what "fuck you up" means. Like him, I have an uneasy alliance with my thoughts. I often think my thoughts are not my own and like the thought of that : ) I am also bedeviled by thoughts that masquerade as ideas. They are not. But thoughts are seeds that can be
held and magically
transformed into ideas that then can be
transcribed into poetic language. That's what I think you are essentially trying to do, but I wonder if you've gone far enough.
I will be contrarian and say that the poem feels like navel-gazing. Of course, if you went through my journals you would see a lot of that going on. But when it's time to write a poem, I must shake myself out of that tendency to naval-gaze and look elsewhere to create. I still don't know if I've ever succeeded.
- Would the first couplet be more impactful if it was:
............. My thoughts slip past
.............and clutter space
- The em dash interrupts the floating quality that thoughts have and that the punctuation-less lines echo. You might also consider no capitalization.
- I agree with others that the title doesn't work. Either call it "untitled" (I would argue that raw thoughts are almost by definition untitled) or perhaps Susan's suggestion "Void".
- I don't know what to think about the Hamlet in the final lines... it feels too pat.
- Like Rick I do like the expression/idea that thoughts clutter space. They never clean up after themselves.
Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe thoughts are the very essence of navel-gazing and therefore this poem is not navel-gazing but instead a biopsy of navel-gazing. Thoughts are all we have in this interior world that we cannot escape from — we can only think about it. So maybe never mind : )
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