In the Cup: ...because posting random bullshit after poetry just feels wrong...

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

...because posting random bullshit after poetry just feels wrong...

7 comments:

Cyrusse said...: I dug this up (along with a lot of things that will never again see the light of day) in the depths of my hard drive while looking for something... which I have now completely forgotten.. crap. I'm not really sure when it was written, just that it was long long ago, possibly in a galaxy far far away. And now off to post my usually weirdness!; December 4, 2007 at 2:25 PM
Black Crow said...: wonderful. I like the theme of the significance of memory. I dont think its cliche at all. the way the piece places emphasis on the memory over the actual initial experience (thrust them into infamy when they were nothing to me in the flesh) is brilliant. I often sit back and remembered childhood experiences only to realize half way through that during the actual experience that other person involved had no idea that I would later remember the event, and even I (in many instances) did not put as much value or interest in the initial experience as I did when I was recalling the event. Perhaps its the urgency for a sense of self. Remembering the past, holding on to each smile, it may be the longing we have to hold on to moments that we can never return to because at least in that way it makes those moments valid and in turn further validates our current existence. After all, without a foundation (in this case a database of memory synapses) it makes it hard to establish a current structure (in this case a sense of self) forgive me if I am waaaay off. I had such a rough night and I only got 2 hours of sleep, came home took baby nap, and here I am. but as of now I understand the poem to be the most beautiful expression of the significance of memory and the power of its capability to hold certain moments forever in time within our mind.
in addition. there is the desperation to maintain a sense of self in the midst of the oncoming rush of vast experiences (and often times burdens) that is adulthood. almost a strain to resist against the pull and tug of new (perhaps at times dull or listless but I can speak for myself here) memories that are being formed so that one can hold on to those special imprints that are so dear to us we dont want to let them go (embrace of a loved one, falling off a swing and than watching a bird chirp, whatever random moment of beauty, or pain, that captivated us enough for us to be able to not only retain it, but even to be able to recall it at different times when it may serve one most) I love it.
than the cryptic last line. I can never draw the eyes. wow. I interpret that to represent how at times the actual soul of the character being represented is not present any longer. sort of like, we remember the image or ideal of what that person represents to us in that moment, but the actual person ,the feeling and perspective of their side, is lost to us. Or perhaps its just literal I mean honestly Ive tripped out when trying to recall facial features of old flings (lame I know but Ive sat and thought wow its been so long I can barely remember so and sos face) and the first thing that I have trouble recalling is the eyes. After a while I just see portraits of what they used to be but the eyes are always vague, I may have an idea of the color because some people have certain stunning qualities to their eyes, but I make the color generic and it doesnt ever come close to how the actual persons eyes look when I see them in person. I often took this as a sign that if I couldn't recall the eyes well I was "over them". Ok random connection but there it is. Whatever the last line means, whether Im close with my two guesses, or way off, its just sounds fucking cool. Props on the imagery, the flow is really pretty and "poem" like; not choppy and ugly like my shit, and all in all I say I want to see more. much more. You know if it took me posting some sick ass extremely crappy poem to get sensei to post her own shit Id say it was worth it! Nice work.; December 4, 2007 at 9:53 PM
Cyrusse said...: Your interpretation of everything is more or less how I intended it (if I really had intention), including both options for the end. That's how I tend to roll, I always like multiple truths, especially when they conflict. I'm glad you enjoyed it. I know it's totally different from what you tend to do. I honestly find your stuff more "poetic" in whatever my categorization of poetry is. Mine seems like prose that have overrun their boundaries a bit.; December 4, 2007 at 10:09 PM
Black Crow said...: haha, prose, poetry, so confusing, Ive found I dont like the labels. which isnt to say that distinctions dont exist, i agree with what you say 100%, but I have found some authors that dont fit exactly into one category or the other. Allen Ginsberg for example. He is sort of the King of prose, with all of his pieces really shining while being spoken aloud (my understanding of prose is that its best felt while being heard)
but than again of course what he is writing is still considered poetry. It holds its own just on the page (in my opinion). I think yours falls into this category. Sure your not talking about endless balls and such like Ginsberg. But you know what I mean. The lack of classification fits this piece, and I think even some of my pieces couldnt be labeled one or the other, though Id say most of what I strive for is straight up poetry. Ahh labels, classifications, one could ignore them completely if they didnt so often serve as important tools. makes me want to go back and change major to creative writing. dreams change.; December 4, 2007 at 11:50 PM
defmoose said...: endless balls! LMAO!; December 5, 2007 at 9:55 AM
Cyrusse said...: yeah, that is a good summary of Ginsberg hehe; December 5, 2007 at 1:23 PM
Black Crow said...: dude read Howl, its all in there.....great poem...fucked up imagery. hey where do yall think I get it from?; December 5, 2007 at 9:53 PM

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