There was a woman...

[PrinceMyshkin]

...and then there wasn’t.

What? You’ve heard that story before?

Wait, there’s more...

ii

There’s always more.

In love
the rule of entropy
is sometimes overturned
and in the transformation
of matter to energy,
sometimes,
something is gained!

a small gain, to be sure,
so small you might mistake it for loss:
a certain degree
of loss of independence,
an unfixing of one’s self
from one’s place.

iii

And then - poof!
- one or the other is gone.

You can spend the rest of your life,
if you choose,
trying to figure out who
left whom.

[kevinthediltz]

A glimse into past loves.
I enjoyed this prince.

[firefangled]

The entire poem is so full of wisdom, and nicely told. However, this in particular is outstanding.


[B][INDENT][INDENT]

In love
the rule of entropy
is sometimes overturned
and in the transformation
of matter to energy,
sometimes,
something is gained!

[PrinceMyshkin]

The entire poem is so full of wisdom, and nicely told. However, this in particular is outstanding.

Kind of, sort of, somehow feels like a return of the hug I diffidently offered you in my last response to your poem! Thanks...

[a_little_wisp]

In love
the rule of entropy
is sometimes overturned
and in the transformation
of matter to energy,
sometimes,
something is gained!

Briiilliant, Prince! And wise! ... And nostalgic, to me, at least.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Briiilliant, Prince! And wise! ... And nostalgic, to me, at least.

Can someone your miniscule age be said to have nostalgia?! Thank you.

[blazeofglory]

...and then there wasn’t.

What? You’ve heard that story before?

Wait, there’s more...

ii

There’s always more.

In love
the rule of entropy
is sometimes overturned
and in the transformation
of matter to energy,
sometimes,
something is gained!

a small gain, to be sure,
so small you might mistake it for loss:
a certain degree
of loss of independence,
an unfixing of one’s self
from one’s place.

iii

And then - poof!
- one or the other is gone.

You can spend the rest of your life,
if you choose,
trying to figure out who
left whom.


There is a stink of philosophy in the last lines of the poem.

Going deeper and deeper into a realm there is nothing to abandon and to be abandoned and there are mere transactions. Love is a transaction between two and when the transactions get hold on the persons transacting we have all stories of raptures and sorrows.

[PrinceMyshkin]

There is a stink of philosophy in the last lines of the poem.

Ouch! There is surely an element of philosophy in just about any poem? You take "Bah, bah, black sheep," for instance. Isn't there some sort of comment in that on the priorities we have?

Seriously, I'd agree with you if you mean that the last lines of my poem are too blatantly pedagogical or preachy, a fault I'm usually watchful against.

[firefangled]

Kind of, sort of, somehow feels like a return of the hug I diffidently offered you in my last response to your poem! Thanks...

No, my comment was because I liked your poem and from my experience it was good wisdom.

This is a ((((hug)))). :) Nothing diffident about it.

[Virgil]

I think it's rather nice Prince. And I think the central paradox of the poem's theme is quite interesting. I mean this:

a small gain, to be sure,
so small you might mistake it for loss:
a certain degree
of loss of independence,
an unfixing of one’s self
from one’s place.
The ambiguity of what is gained and what is lost. Cool and profound actually.

[PrinceMyshkin]

I think it's rather nice Prince. And I think the central paradox of the poem's theme is quite interesting. I mean this:

The ambiguity of what is gained and what is lost. Cool and profound actually.

Many thanks, Virge & Firefangled. Just finished reading a NYer piece on the life & suicide of David Foster Wallace. I never clued in to his writing, actually didn't try very much of it, but, oh! the agonies of his life, the question whether he'd have been in such agony if he'd never discovered the desire to write, or if the writing produced - it no doubt exacerbated - the agony he went through.

Reading that article led me to yet one more attempt at an opening to the fiction I appear to be disabled from writing:


This the story of a writer who was so much better than me that I can’t even bring myself to write his name. Instead, I will call him “Don’t Forget Winter” and that might be a good name for him because he never forgot winter. For him it was always winter or at best three seasons away from winter.

[qimissung]

"a small gain, to be sure,
so small it might be taken for a loss;"

These are my favorite lines, and they are so true. We forget that with every gain there is a loss, that with every open door, there is one that closes, that compromises are necessary and are going to look us in the eye and demand to be made.

A bull's eye as usual, Prince.

[ampoule]

Reading that article led me to yet one more attempt at an opening to the fiction I appear to be disabled from writing:


This the story of a writer who was so much better than me that I can’t even bring myself to write his name. Instead, I will call him “Don’t Forget Winter” and that might be a good name for him because he never forgot winter. For him it was always winter or at best three seasons away from winter.


Hope you are abled soon cause I'd like to buy a copy.