A little alchemy

[blp]

To commence author is to claim praise and no one can do so but at the hazard of disgrace – Ben Johnson

Praise being loneliness as much as disgrace is solitary
If you were to be with me here in this room, we would see how far our talking takes us.
We would be able to learn whether talking can take away loneliness or whether
we would remain alone.

But Qian says, ‘you’re not alone’,
from
China though and I feel
ugly and immoral and Qian
says ‘We are not saints’,
with the simple wisdom of a sage.

this spring I began working again at
my friends company
and withdrew
diffidently
from a series of incipient seductions seductions
in embryo Spring
and
Today while reading your poems, Qian,
the blood tore through me
and became a thorn.

The next day I went to psychoanalysis and
(looking over the wall)
soberly discussed the possibility of intoxication

(it came up inside me like a shout)

the warm sweet churn
dark depths
volcanic blood
the trembling
of the world
minds and bodies
liquefying warmly
so it seems

there is no polite way
of being happy
and you say, Qian,
as if it there was no terror in it at all,

Oh John, let’s
be happy!

[ktd222]

I always love reading your poems, blp. This poem is simply beautiful, in that it cuts away the strings of dependencies and complications we’d created to justify such feelings to exist inside ourselves.
I like that you introduced into your poem the character Qian. I feel he/she balances out the speaker, who seems, initially, lost, and as the poem funnels down, and the speaker discovers the truth Qian spoke of, the balance shifts completely, and the truth almost leaps out of the page at me.
I’m not sure I understand the context of the second quote by Qian in relation to the concept of this poem: “we are not saints.”
I like the imagery connection you made between the moment of clarity, whether the speaker knew or not, in stanza 3, and its apparentness to the speaker in stanza 5, especially the part where the affect of Qian’s poems on the speaker creates an effect on the speaker’s psyche, in stanza 5.
“Polite” struck me as an odd word to use at first…but I must admit, now, that it is the perfect word to use; because it has connotations of needing to consider other’s feelings, it throws the idea of happiness inward towards the individual, and discards of other’s ideas of happiness taking part in defining “happiness” to the speaker.

[Pendragon]

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/ThumbsUp.gifhttp://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/ThumbsUp.gifhttp://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/ThumbsUp.gifhttp://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/ThumbsUp.gif Says it all, BLP!

[blp]

Thanks both. :)

ktd, I think 'we are not saints' relates to the problem of politeness. And I also think the politeness is a funny trick, where actually no one gets to have what they want. It's really about poetry, starting with the dreary notion of doing it to receive either praise or disgrace and, going through, finding the thing that really matters about it, which is about feeling. And it's that feeling that isn't particularly polite, but at the same time, accessing it, whether by design or not, can give something to someone else, more than politeness ever could.

[jon1jt]

To commence author is to claim praise and no one can do so but at the hazard of disgrace – Ben Johnson

Praise being loneliness as much as disgrace is solitary
If you were to be with me here in this room, we would see how far our talking takes us.
We would be able to learn whether talking can take away loneliness or whether
we would remain alone.

But Qian says, ‘you’re not alone’,
from
China though and I feel
ugly and immoral and Qian
says ‘We are not saints’,
with the simple wisdom of a sage.

this spring I began working again at
my friends company
and withdrew
diffidently
from a series of incipient seductions seductions
in embryo Spring
and
Today while reading your poems, Qian,
the blood tore through me
and became a thorn.

The next day I went to psychoanalysis and
(looking over the wall)
soberly discussed the possibility of intoxication

(it came up inside me like a shout)

the warm sweet churn
dark depths
volcanic blood
the trembling
of the world
minds and bodies
liquefying warmly
so it seems

there is no polite way
of being happy
and you say, Qian,
as if it there was no terror in it at all,

Oh John, let’s
be happy!


this looks like the more recent version.

the writing is clear and witty and there is some hidden depth. um...this doesn't mean i was actually moved by the wittiness (read on) :D. stylistically it's a departure from the poems i've read of yours with the one exception that you, like me, sometimes try too hard.

diffidently
from a series of incipient seductions seductions
in embryo Spring


this sounds cliche and yet works okay as part of the whole.

dark depths
volcanic blood
the trembling
of the world
minds and bodies


otherwise, the voice is simple and the dialogue keeps the pace up as does the somewhat mainstream-y subject matter. reading it made me think of writer May Sarton who said that "Loneliness is the poverty of self and solitude is the richness of self. what you did say about loneliness is intriguing and left me thirsty for more. there's something in the following that interrupts the flow:

"But Qian says, ‘you’re not alone’,
from
China though and I feel
ugly "

i see what you're trying to do with the mention of "psychoanalysis" and still that's precisely when i rolled my eyes and let out a loud moan. "Here it comes"---the witty crescendo bomb that sounds like a cap gun. :bawling: oh i'm exaggerating some. i just have a grievance against the witty brand. :D in truth, the otherwise intriguing imagery stands alone and not with and therein showed the meaning. notwithstanding, i enjoyed reading it. a wise sage once told me, a poem is an experience. thanks for sharing yours.

[ktd222]

ktd, I think 'we are not saints' relates to the problem of politeness.
yes...but I think putting "saints" in there gives the poem a religious undertone and I don't know if that is what you want.


And I also think the politeness is a funny trick, where actually no one gets to have what they want. It's really about poetry, starting with the dreary notion of doing it to receive either praise or disgrace and, going through, finding the thing that really matters about it, which is about feeling. And it's that feeling that isn't particularly polite, but at the same time, accessing it, whether by design or not, can give something to someone else, more than politeness ever could.

Sure it is. I wholly agree with what you've said. It's the most obvious path to true happiness, yet, sometimes the most difficult to maintain. It's still a great poem in my view:)

[blp]

Thanks. And thanks again.

jon, I didn't think I was being at all witty anywhere in this poem. I'm not sure I want wit either much, particularly here. Glad you liked it on the whole though. It's not a newer version. No editing yet.

Saints - well, no, I agree, I don't want a religious overtone. Actually, though, it's the clichéed 'simple wisdom of a sage' I have the bigger problem with.

[Riesa]

hey, blp...you know I really like this poem. I felt while reading it that I was hearing you, felt extremely close to the experience. the strongest voice of the poems of yours I've read, imho.

the only part to me that stood out as editable was:


this spring I began working again at

I hear a deep breath between the previous stanza and this line, and it all comes spilling out, but I think you could reword it in a way that isn't so 'everyday'. or just...this spring I withdrew. shrug. very enjoyable poem, thanks. just be happy. ;)

[blp]

Aww. I'll try. ;)

Thanks, R. I guess we'll have to disagree for now on that bit. I like a bit of the quotidian. Always.