The me that is in the world

[PrinceMyshkin]

The me that is in the world
is not the me that is inside me,
though they often travel together.

The one that is in the world
turns this way and that, eager to be seen,
but not all at once, and not for long.

The self that is inside
bobs along as if soul
were another kind of amniotic fluid.

It is biding its time
to be born, although time,
inside, washes back and forth.

[AuntShecky]

The last two verse paragraphs are the best of this thought-provoking piece. I enjoyed reading this.

[billl]

I really liked this too. An interesting notion, communicated very well.

[qimissung]

Yes, a good description of the soul...bobbing..." along...biding it's time..."

[JacobF]

That last stanza is almost a poem itself. It is captivating and absolutely perfect.

I got a 'eureka' feeling from reading this poem, as if you have told me something I could never put into words. At the same time, it would be an injustice if I were to ramble about its qualities because it does such a great job of speaking for itself.

In other words -- excellent, as always.

[PrinceMyshkin]

AuntShacky, billl, Qimissung & JacobF: Many thanks to all of you.

[paperleaves]

Dear Prince, this beautiful, evocative poem describes the fleeting realization most fail to observe at many opportunities in their lifetimes...the difference between the soul and body, the me that others see, as well as the me that writes and feels.:)

[Pryderi Agni]

Just one criticism: If you add 'the' in line 8 ('the soul') I think you'll achieve a more rounded phrase that'll come more mellifluously off the tongue. The present line sounds a little subvocal alarm in my head.

Other than this, a spectacular poem. Searingly human.

[firefangled]

This is really one of those miraculous poems. Not that they happen without intention at all, but what happens along with intention. The line endings in this poem are beautifully apropos for the story: world, me, together / world, seen, long / inside, soul, fluid / time, time, forth.

Prince, I don't mean to say you did not intend these endings, only you know that, but from what you have said over the years in your posts, I assume you did not. For me, it is all the more beautiful for that.

[PrinceMyshkin]

This is really one of those miraculous poems. Not that they happen without intention at all, but what happens along with intention. The line endings in this poem are beautifully apropos for the story: world, me, together / world, seen, long / inside, soul, fluid / time, time, forth.

Prince, I don't mean to say you did not intend these endings, only you know that, but from what you have said over the years in your posts, I assume you did not. For me, it is all the more beautiful for that.

I want to begin with an abashed public confession, which is that I have noticed the absence of responses from you to this and the two poems I posted before this one. I thought (of course?) that you saw so little merit in these that you preferred to say nothing... My aesthetics, of course, could hardly be further than your own superb way of working.

Your remark about intention is an interesting one. I seldom if ever have a conscious intention beyond what is implicit to me in the opening line or lines that present themselves. My intention, after that, is to be as faithful to what is suggested there; which of course includes the music of the lines as I discern them.

I have no doubt quoted before this statement by (I think) Paul Valery: "I would rather create a second-rate work in full possession of my senses than a masterpiece in a trance." I laughed a comradely, wincing laugh at the recognition of ego in that: in this case with respect to the words and line-breaks you cited, my own wish to respond, "Oh I made every one of those choices consciously, the first at 8:10 am July &c..."

I have come to see two fallacies in the foregoing quotation:

1) Moral: that if one has a gift, one should be overjoyed to share the fruits of it, however arrived at (other than by theft), and

2) Psychological: that whenever one attempts to say anything with any depth of thought or feeling, one always works at least partially in a trance.

This 2nd one is for me at times a humbling experience: these opening lines (I hesitate to refer to them as "inspirations" because there is so much romantic hype around creative production), these opening lines often appear to have nothing to do with my recent or older experience; they do not always even make sense to me, although I can intuit a poetic possibility in them...

Thanks for commenting.

[firefangled]

I want to begin with an abashed public confession, which is that I have noticed the absence of responses from you to this and the two poems I posted before this one.


My own abashed response to you, Prince, is to say my absences over the last few months is nothing more than due to work and personal matters consuming my time. It has nothing to do with my opinions of your fine poetry or any of the works posted here to which I have not responded as I would have liked to.

I have tried to participate as well as I can. I am not a good critic as it is anyway and have had to steal time in the night to write. Many times lately I did not respond to many poems I enjoyed here because I am not very often good at quickly summing my feelings in a way that each poem deserves.

What I know of poetry formally is still green. The characteristics of this art I do know are often times uncertain. Though I often succumb to commenting that I was moved by a poem or thought it sounded beautiful and let it go at that, I want to say more. I want the poet to know why I like his or her poem. You do this frequently, honestly and quite well.

I enjoyed much about your poem The Me That Is in the World and agreed with the comments previous to mine on its content. What struck me as well were the line endings, a formal characteristic that may or may not be an intention of the poet. When unintended line ending take on a life of their own, so to speak, I find it more interesting because it seems as though in those instances soul is speaking apart from the poet's speak. It seemed indicative of your content.

[PrinceMyshkin]

What I know of poetry formally is still green. The characteristics of this art I do know are often times uncertain. Though I often succumb to commenting that I was moved by a poem or thought it sounded beautiful and let it go at that, I want to say more. I want the poet to know why I like his or her poem. You do this frequently, honestly and quite well.

Personally I've always found your responses to others' poems as well as my own to be particular and sensitive. I'm thinking at the moment of your comment re "sin and penance" apropos Paperleaves' very fine last poem, a comment she acknowledged gratefully.

But the lead sentence of your quoted comment here worries me. I've spoken up often enough in disagreement with those who seek to apply technical standards to this or that poem. My own preference is a tabula rasa approach and whilst you might still be green vis a vis the art of poetry as practised by x, y or z, you're far from green when it comes to the life of your soul and its many eyes, ears, nose and fingertips vis a vis both nature and, for want of a better word, the spirit world.

[symphony]

I love this version of the poem! I'm not sure I can relate to the 3rd stanza but the 4th/last one is beautiful.

[Pendragon]

Loved this one. Shows a great deal about yourself, I think. :thumbs_up

[PrinceMyshkin]

I love this version of the poem! I'm not sure I can relate to the 3rd stanza but the 4th/last one is beautiful.

Delighted that you like 75% of this! Thanks...

[PrinceMyshkin]

Just one criticism: If you add 'the' in line 8 ('the soul') I think you'll achieve a more rounded phrase that'll come more mellifluously off the tongue. The present line sounds a little subvocal alarm in my head.

Other than this, a spectacular poem. Searingly human.

I see what you're getting at and appreciate your close reading, but there is some other reason I don't intend to follow your advice: Referring to "the soul" would have seemed to me to be to accepting the Judaeo-Christian (and Muslim?) concept of an actual soul, a separate entity that inhabits our material body and detaches from it at death... whereas I meant to use it abstractly, as some sort of undefined, indeed indefinable something.