Third Poem

[VRWC]

Here is a poem I wrote during my college years while reflecting on my high school experience.


I lived on the side,
My history a hero's parade,
Pressing the chosen on a sea of arms,
And I the lone watcher.

Off-center I would sit, with math,
Watching madness spit in the corner,
Breaking my concentration from teacher,
A battery rolls across the floor.

A last ditch effort to solve the triangle,
Trying to live inside it,
A D.C. diplomat sitting close,
Knowing everything in his wreathed oily head.

Functional people, dressed in brushed steel,
Woke and ran for Los Alamos (T- Division),
I woke late wearing polished steel,
Else I would have known.......nevermind.

Even the idiots were extroverts,
Chosen for their comparison (to strict data),
The fun twinkling eyes on every page
Of yearbooks- the newsmakers.

Then I found a friend who was not human,
I excelled,
I chose the path most likely to be less traveled,
And was stuck in traffic.

I was always the waxing gibbous,
In a class of full moons,
But if I bloom late,
After others have whithered,
The meanest flower that blows, etc.

[Shea]

I really like the way that you put words together! Although some meanings of this poem were over my head, like the brushed and polished steel... I assume you were reffering to the ROTC program? Overall, What I understood from the poem was that you didn't really fit into any sort of clique, you were different, but certainly not useless. Am I right in thinking this, or did too much go over my head?

Then I found a friend who was not human,
I excelled,
I chose the path most likely to be less traveled,
And was stuck in traffic.

In this stanza are you talking about finding God? What made you get "stuck in traffic"?

[VRWC]

I hesitated to post this poem because I have not really edited it.

The polished vs brushed steel was the first thing that popped into my head when writing it. I've always considered it a place marker meant to be changed when I came up with a better comparison. But I've yet to find anything else that works. The whole idea is that all of us were running around trying to look our best, trying to be fashionable, and all the while we were wrecks on the inside- cliche, I know. The latest clothes were worn as a means of protection, so I wrote steel for lack of a better idea at the time. In the poem I wore the wrong kind, which is the way I felt in high school- always one step behind.

You are right in your observation that I felt like I never fit in. Realize, this was not the martyr's touch- "I'm unique. No one understands me!" It was the feeling I had, I was always self conscious about it, that I had a hard time fitting in.

I found a friend that was not human. This refers to music, but I've also thought it could be interpreted as God. I was a very good musician. I won everything. It was the only thing I've ever really been confident about and good at doing. I thought it was a way to make a name for myself, but in college I got bogged down when I realized there were so many people out there to compete with.

[Shea]

I do like the idea behind the brushed and polished steel now that you've explained it, but I agree, it needs to be a little clearer.

What insrument did you play? The high school that I went to was an art school that also had many talented musicians.

The meanest flower that blows, etc.

Is the "etc." here meant to denote how, whether or not you fit in, life goes on and you must live in it anyway? I thought it was a nice touch. I've often started many poems with "and" if they were about a segment of my life.

[VRWC]

That final line is the penultimate line in Wordsworth's Ode: Intimations of Immortality. The last two lines are:
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

These lines are so familiar that I felt there was no need to quote the entire statement. Besides, if I did quote it in it's entirety, it may appear that I was trying to steal something beautiful from Wordsworth simply to spruce up my own work. I included the line because the ideas that Ode implies relate to my poem in a subtle way. Intimations of Immortality deals with the lose of the beauty of the world as one grows older. Wordsworth finally reconciles himself to this fact. I've always thought of myself as a "late bloomer" (I was always the waxing gibbous, in a class of full moons), so when I finally find my place I will be in my prime after others have whithered.

The etc. is there to add a feeling of continuation to the end. I've made a partial statement and then I allow the continuation to reverberate silently in one's mind- hopefully anyway.

I hope that clears things up a bit. It's difficult to explain in this format what one feels from the poetic line. Poetry speaks to the imagination in sort of a dream language that doesn't easily avail itself to explanation.

For your other question, I was, and still am, a saxophonist. I played many classical and jazz competitions in high school and was fairly successful. I am going to begin teaching at an arts magnet high school this fall.

[Shea]

That does clear things up better, I'm ashamed to say that I never read Intimations of Immortality and so that line went over my head too :oops: .

[Koa]

I like it a lot, but at a very 'superficial' level. I mean, that, just like Shea, many things- well...most :oops: - went over my head. I got the idea of not fitting in at the beginning, but then lost it... I just was reading words, it was hard to get meanings. But i don't think it's soemthing coming from how it's written, at all. I often have troubles in understanding deeply the most sophisticated poetry, i should analyse it more carefully as for example i can't grab the full meaning of some words- which depends of course on the fact that English is not my native language.

Just to get a bit off topic... Most of the tim i didnt fit in as well, and still don't. I'm desperately trying to 'become normal' and hoping to be a bit happier, but i can't seem to be able. Basically, i'm a young adult still lost in adolescence problems :oops: How cool.


PS I've been meaning to post another poem of mine here, which is partly about not fitting in, maybe. I will do it soon.

[Shea]

Just to get a bit off topic... Most of the tim i didnt fit in as well, and still don't. I'm desperately trying to 'become normal' and hoping to be a bit happier, but i can't seem to be able. Basically, i'm a young adult still lost in adolescence problems How cool.

Don't worry about it Koa, I never really fit in either. People were always nice and friendly to me but I never 'belonged' to a certain group, As it seemed that everyone else did. My interests were always to strange for one group and not enough strange enough for another. So as it was, I was just happy that I didn't have any enemies that I knew about! I think that half the time when we desire to run with a certain crowd, it tends to be a case where the grass is always greener.

[Koa]

I think that half the time when we desire to run with a certain crowd, it tends to be a case where the grass is always greener.

Yes Shea, it is. In some periods i'm proud of being 'different', but lately i'm feeling bad about it, for many reasons it would be too long to explain (and it's not the right place )

Poetry is a field where i can see lots of people that don't really 'fit in', and feel less lonely. To me this is one of the main uses of literature (not only about fitting in, of course, but about many things.)

Sorry VRWC for taking a bit of 'your' space.

[VRWC]

Koa, no need to apologize- I don't consider this my "space". I think you're right, reading literature does make one feel less lonely. Reading connects you with other people when you share in the writer's ideas. For you to read something I have written, and then identify with it, makes me feel that what I wrote had a purpose. Otherwise, what I wrote would be considered "dead".

When I write something I always consider the reader. What will the reader think about when she reads what I have written? That is an important consideration.

I still feel sick to my stomach thinking about situatuions in my past where I didn't feel comfortable fitting in. It makes me feel useless I guess. Sometimes the only way I can reconcile these feelings is to write about them in way that other people can identify with them, and then say, "Yeah, you know, I've felt that way too."

Anyway, those are my thoughts. Thank-you for taking the time to read my poem.

[b]

VRWC, Koa:

Though I also think that sharing the writer's thoughts make you feel less lonely, I think writing can do that even better. Places like this forum - electronically oriented 'conversations' and archives of thought-exchange - can combine both of these things in one: that's one of the reasons why I like this place.

But recently - I am in a very busy period with my studies - I haven't had enough time to seriously comment and post here, which I strongly regret. In my holidays - when time is less expensive - I am planning to spend some more time here, but at the moment I am still unable to do that.

Hear from you,

Bart

[Koa]

Hey Bart- i guessed you're busy...i should be too...i should...

VRWC, yes you got exactly what i said about feeling less lonely with literature: it's like 'oooh that's what i think too!' ...even if the writer was dead 2 centuries ago... i think i wrote this in another topic when someone said they felt involved in one of my poems: that's indeed the greatest achievement for a writer...

But, and i've already said that somewhere too (i keep repeating things like old people ), the only thought that some other human being is going to read what i wrote, makes me stop writing... it makes me feel embarassed and makes me censor my own words... So it's very different from what you think, as you said it's very important. Different views