The Slaughter of Reason

[PrinceMyshkin]

All of the birds have gone south but one.
The slaughter of reason has begun.

No one wants the dinner to end
but everyone wants dessert.

[~Sophia~]

I think this is your best "short" yet. Bravo Prince.

[PrinceMyshkin]

I think this is your best "short" yet. Bravo Prince.

I deeply appreciate this because the final couplet is one that I felt I was channeling, after which it was a back-breaking struggle to keep my 'inner rabbi' from appropriating it for one of his bloody sermons. Thanks.

[Delta40]

I love the last two lines. Although it reminds me strongly of wanting to have your cake and eat it too, it is also that everyone has an expectation of reward no matter what they have achieved.

is that so unreasonable?

[MorpheusSandman]

I really like the brevity and the thought behind both couplets and yet I'm having a bit of difficulty "connecting" them other than the idea of how it's "unreasonable" to want dessert without dinner ending, but in terms of a more broad metaphor I haven't got it yet. Still, it's a nice one that is definitely provoking me to think about it (that's never a bad thing, eh?).

[~Sophia~]

In my interpretation, I'm grateful your inner rabbi was sleeping. Shalom.

[PrinceMyshkin]

In my interpretation, I'm grateful your inner rabbi was sleeping. Shalom.

Asleep, perhaps, but at rest, never.

Did you know that "shalom" comes from the same root as "to make whole" because of the Biblical notion that even when trading with someone, one was in a sense stealing from him or her, and to make that theft whole, by offering something in return, one was making peace.


I really like the brevity and the thought behind both couplets and yet I'm having a bit of difficulty "connecting" them other than the idea of how it's "unreasonable" to want dessert without dinner ending, but in terms of a more broad metaphor I haven't got it yet. Still, it's a nice one that is definitely provoking me to think about it (that's never a bad thing, eh?).

That makes (at least) two of us who don't entirely get it. Once in a while, I have to trust some non-rational or non-logical leap at the meaning.

And may I commend you on your appreciation of The Proclaimers, whose "Oh Jean, you let me get lucky with you" is a great favouriite of mine.

[Virgil]

To be honest, I don't get it, but it's fine poetry if it has meaning. ;)

[~Sophia~]

Shalom.

[PrinceMyshkin]

To be honest, I don't get it, but it's fine poetry if it has meaning. ;)

I have always meant to read Thornton Wilder's The Bridge of San Luis Rey, based on the actual incident when a rope bridge collapsed causing the death of the six people who were on it, who had no apparent relationship with each other. The premise of the novel is to examine the lives of those six people up to the time they got on that bridge, to see if there was some shared inevitability to their death.

In light of which I might ask you to imagine the four lines of my poem as if you had entered a room and saw four individuals in it, two of whom (i.e., the second couplet) appeared to be connected, but the other two were not except for the fact of being there...It's up to you, now, to deduce their connectivity or to treat them as 4 variously interesting individuals...

That is not me trying to be a smart-a--, but is honestly the best I can do.

[MorpheusSandman]

That makes (at least) two of us who don't entirely get it. Once in a while, I have to trust some non-rational or non-logical leap at the meaning.Sure; I do this as well. Sometimes, the poems I have no intended meaning for end up having a lot of "meaning" anyway. You can't unconsciously express something and make it meaningless.


And may I commend you on your appreciation of The Proclaimers, whose "Oh Jean, you let me get lucky with you" is a great favouriite of mine.I really should check them out more thoroughly; I love everything I've heard.

[Bar22do]

All of the birds have gone south but one.
The slaughter of reason has begun.

No one wants the dinner to end
but everyone wants dessert.


Ah! than do you confess you happen to channel? ( from your answer to Sophia: "... because the final couplet is one that I felt I was channeling, after which it was a back-breaking struggle to keep my 'inner rabbi' from appropriating it for one of his bloody sermons... "); and when you do, the channeled is your inner rabbi? I do not quite understand what's wrong - except perhaps when he starts his occasional sermonizing - with your inner rabbi using your channel, he evidently is a very interesting guy and maybe the only part of you able to succeed in overcoming your superego... and who knows, he may be the one who sprinkles the ready lines over your mind, in the hope that you accept him, eventually, as your equal and part of your team...

I read your poem with one single breath and it transported me to the exact dimension where (I believe) every poet would wish to dwell. Thank you.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Ah! than do you confess you happen to channel? ( from your answer to Sophia: "... because the final couplet is one that I felt I was channeling, after which it was a back-breaking struggle to keep my 'inner rabbi' from appropriating it for one of his bloody sermons... "); and when you do, the channeled is your inner rabbi? I do not quite understand what's wrong - except perhaps when he starts his occasional sermonizing - with your inner rabbi using your channel, he evidently is a very interesting guy and maybe the only part of you able to succeed in overcoming your superego... and who knows, he may be the one who sprinkles the ready lines over your mind, in the hope that you accept him, eventually, as your equal and part of your team...

I read your poem with one single breath and it transported me to the exact dimension where (I believe) every poet would wish to dwell. Thank you.





I want to correct the impression I gave by my reference to "channeling." The very limited experience I've had with practicing channellers was very different from what I experience: no actual "voices," no connection with an identifiable entity from "the other side." Andrea says it is more true to say that I "receive" messages or "energy" from somewhere...the universe, perhaps. Even that makes me uneasy as I am a practicing materialist!

As to my "inner rabbi," I think it is some sort of defensive reaction or abreaction to a world where I feel misunderstood and in need of explaining/defending myself.

Your reaction to my admittedly enigmatic little poem gives me a lot of satisfaction.

[Bar22do]

I want to correct the impression I gave by my reference to "channeling." The very limited experience I've had with practicing channellers was very different from what I experience: no actual "voices," no connection with an identifiable entity from "the other side." Andrea says it is more true to say that I "receive" messages or "energy" from somewhere...the universe, perhaps. Even that makes me uneasy as I am a practicing materialist!

As to my "inner rabbi," I think it is some sort of defensive reaction or abreaction to a world where I feel misunderstood and in need of explaining/defending myself.

Your reaction to my admittedly enigmatic little poem gives me a lot of satisfaction.

Infinity forbid! I did not allude to "voices from the other side" (brrrr!), but possibly to one of your own, un-censured. Please read what I wrote again... ("receiving messages" definitely sounds better than the "fashionable" channeling, and as to where such messages originate from we can only speculate... my modest senses tell me there may be several sources, depending on which one we are "tuned" to, and on the moment... but our unconscious level is filled with interesting raw material waiting for expression...)

[PrinceMyshkin]

Infinity forbid! I did not allude to "voices from the other side" (brrrr!), but possibly to one of your own, un-censured. Please read what I wrote again... ("receiving messages" definitely sounds better than the "fashionable" channeling, and as to where such messages originate from we can only speculate... my modest senses tell me there may be several sources, depending on which one we are "tuned" to, and on the moment... but our unconscious level is filled with interesting raw material waiting for expression...)



When "the Infinity" was assigning us our virtues and imperfections, He/She/It somehow neglected to endow me with patience. Unlike the early 20th c. poet/essayist I have often quoted:


"I would rather write a 2nd-rate work in full possession of my senses than a masterpiece in a trance

I would prefer to write "masterpieces" (or as near to that as I can get) in a trance, if that is the only way to do it, but could one/would one live, say, 49% of the time in a trance if one could achieve that?

And even if so, would one not need the 51% conscious self to act as the editor and fine-tuner?

[paperleaves]

I'm not sure if I understand where this beautifully crafted vision was harbored in the magnificent, yet terrifyingly deep recesses of your mind, but dear heavens, the last two lines gnaw at you, like a poetic truth, one that can only be channeled by the one, true poet, the inner breath that whispers to us all in the savage depths of our souls....

That was the longest run-on I've ever written, but this may be the most brilliant short poem you've ever written, and I think you've done it once again! You've made a short masterpiece!



Love
Kate

[PrinceMyshkin]

I'm not sure if I understand where this beautifully crafted vision was harbored in the magnificent, yet terrifyingly deep recesses of your mind, but dear heavens, the last two lines gnaw at you, like a poetic truth, one that can only be channeled by the one, true poet, the inner breath that whispers to us all in the savage depths of our souls....

That was the longest run-on I've ever written, but this may be the most brilliant short poem you've ever written, and I think you've done it once again! You've made a short masterpiece!



Love
Kate
Thanks, hon - yeh, those last two lines are still something of a mystery to me, something I enjoy reciting to myself. As for your run-on sentence, may you continue to run on and on much longer than that.

The L word,
Jer


Sure; I do this as well. Sometimes, the poems I have no intended meaning for end up having a lot of "meaning" anyway. You can't unconsciously express something and make it meaningless.


Amongst other things, maybe that is what poetry is for: to enable the poet to reach aspects of his/herself that wouldn't otherwise be revealed to them. Grace Paley revised the commonplace advice to writers to write what you know with "Write what you don't know about what you know..." and I would have experiences like that when I was writing fiction. I'd write the sentence that seemed logically to follow from the one before it, then pause at times and think Geez, I didn't know I knew (or thought) that!

But it's a delicate moment when one has written something one doesn't fully understand in a logical way and one needs to decide, intuitively, does it actually mean something or is it just plain gibberish?


I love the last two lines. Although it reminds me strongly of wanting to have your cake and eat it too, it is also that everyone has an expectation of reward no matter what they have achieved.

is that so unreasonable?

Yes, it is ABSOLUTELY unreasonable, in the sense that we like to pretend that we are creatures of reason - and ignore those aspects of ourselves that are NOT reasonable but are essential to our imperfect human nature.

Show me an utterly 'reasonable' man or woman and I will show you someone who has been scared out of their wits by some of their experience of life.

[Bar22do]

When "the Infinity" was assigning us our virtues and imperfections, He/She/It somehow neglected to endow me with patience. Unlike the early 20th c. poet/essayist I have often quoted:


"I would rather write a 2nd-rate work in full possession of my senses than a masterpiece in a trance

I would prefer to write "masterpieces" (or as near to that as I can get) in a trance, if that is the only way to do it, but could one/would one live, say, 49% of the time in a trance if one could achieve that?

And even if so, would one not need the 51% conscious self to act as the editor and fine-tuner?

1/Trance does not require patience, but it endows one with passion (inner), when right. 2/Letting one's unconscious part speak/write is not dependent on trance (although we all experience trance daily in various situations, unaware!). 3/Masterpieces come into being unconditionally or they do not come; the 51% superego's fine-tuning is useful only after the masterpiece made itself a shape and took abode in it, and provided that it (the superego) has understood the contents. The river creates its bed and banks, man only adapts...
When "it" comes from intuition, trust what you cannot (yet) control... but is it not, actually, how you are an artist?

[PrinceMyshkin]

1/Trance does not require patience, but it endows one with passion (inner), when right. 2/Letting one's unconscious part speak/write is not dependent on trance (although we all experience trance daily in various situations, unaware!). 3/Masterpieces come into being unconditionally or they do not come; the 51% superego's fine-tuning is useful only after the masterpiece made itself a shape and took abode in it, and provided that it (the superego) has understood the contents. The river creates its bed and banks, man only adapts...
When "it" comes from intuition, trust what you cannot (yet) control... but is it not, actually, how you are an artist?


Pardon me for what might sound churlish, but I rather dislike hearing or thinking of myself as an "artist," which makes me feel that I ought to get a black beret and a velour cape, seduce my friend's sweethearts (male, female or other), suffer exquisitely &c. &c.

Indeed the more we (or I at any rate) think of what I do as "art," the more it is likely to turn out to be pretentious pomposity.

[Bar22do]

Pardon me for what might sound churlish, but I rather dislike hearing or thinking of myself as an "artist," which makes me feel that I ought to get a black beret and a velour cape, seduce my friend's sweethearts (male, female or other), suffer exquisitely &c. &c.

Indeed the more we (or I at any rate) think of what I do as "art," the more it is likely to turn out to be pretentious pomposity.

How could I have guessed about your ghosts! For the rest - "Discretion is the better part of valour."
I only answered re your own sigh for a masterpiece, where calling you an "artist" was of the least importance and certainly not an insult!
Modesty lies also in accepting one's own nature... be it artistic.

[AuntShecky]

Who is the one bird who remained behind?

[PrinceMyshkin]

Who is the one bird who remained behind?

That line came - as the best of them do - when I uttered a rude word to my consciousness and reached for......anything! On reflection I can see that it expresses self-pity at the waning of my abilities save for that one bird, my enthusiasm for and eagerness to write more poetry.

[firefangled]

This reminds me of the old saying, Everyone wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die.

I'm not sure I can make any connection other than the unreasonableness of wanting to have something before its time.

It also reminds me of the end of The Wall by Pink Floyd: "If you don't eat your meat, you can't have any pudding. How can you have any pudding, if you don't eat your meat."

[PrinceMyshkin]

This reminds me of the old saying, Everyone wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die.

I'm not sure I can make any connection other than the unreasonableness of wanting to have something before its time.

It also reminds me of the end of The Wall by Pink Floyd: "If you don't eat your meat, you can't have any pudding. How can you have any pudding, if you don't eat your meat."

Many thanks for commenting. I had/have deep ambivalence regarding this poem. I cherished it only for the second couplet, which came first and which I unabashedly prided myself on the originality of the insight, and am a bit disappointed to read here of its antecedents.

[firefangled]

I cherished it only for the second couplet, which came first and which I unabashedly prided myself on the originality of the insight, and am a bit disappointed to read here of its antecedents.

I was personally more attracted to the title and the metaphor you began with. It grabbed my attention immediately and elicited the same question AuntShecky had regarding the one bird. Coupled with the second sentence you have created an interesting mystery to go forward with.

As for which came first, I applaud the second couplet for inspiring in you the first. Long ago I used to hunt for treasure with a metal detector. I dug up anything that set the thing off. My friends used to kid me about how many tin cans and bottle tops I found, until one day I dug up a mason jar (with a rusted tin lid) full of Morgan silver dollars.

At the risk of sounding patronizing, I will remind you that you are the one who often touts the mysteries of how fine poetry comes to us. I would take heed in your own words. I do.

[PrinceMyshkin]

I was personally more attracted to the title and the metaphor you began with. It grabbed my attention immediately and elicited the same question AuntShecky had regarding the one bird. Coupled with the second sentence you have created an interesting mystery to go forward with.

I can provide a decidedly ex post facto
explanation of how I think the whole thing coheres: In line 1 you have a self-consciously aging man who feels that all of his former powers have '"gone south" except for the one, which is his ability to create new poems.

The "Slaughter of Reason" follows from that insofar as he once believed that life had reason, but with age he believes that that 'reason' is in process of being destroyed.

And he/I wish for my dinner or my life to go on without end but at the same time I am curious about my just deserts, for a moment of posthumous reflection to evaluate his/my life. For my own assessment and that of my children and others.


As for which came first, I applaud the second couplet for inspiring in you the first. Long ago I used to hunt for treasure with a metal detector. I dug up anything that set the thing off. My friends used to kid me about how many tin cans and bottle tops I found, until one day I dug up a mason jar (with a rusted tin lid) full of Morgan silver dollars.

At the risk of sounding patronizing, I will remind you that you are the one who often touts the mysteries of how fine poetry comes to us. I would take heed in your own words. I do.

Bless those Morgan silver dollars (and whatever they might be a metaphor for) but as for "sounding patronizing," so long as one is 6'4" tall as a poet commenting on those who are a mere 5'71/2" there is always the risk that you'd sound condescending - but I believe I know you far better than that!

[Makai]

All of the birds have gone south but one.
The slaughter of reason has begun.

No one wants the dinner to end
but everyone wants dessert.


Marvelous Prince, as soon as I read this gem it made me smile. It was akin to lighting a light for me. Perhaps it is because I have been privileged to know and love you for some time, but I think it is because this poem is a small arrow a dart of consciousness and I just get it.

Loved the whole of it! (do it again)

[PrinceMyshkin]

Marvelous Prince, as soon as I read this gem it made me smile. It was akin to lighting a light for me. Perhaps it is because I have been privileged to know and love you for some time, but I think it is because this poem is a small arrow a dart of consciousness and I just get it.

Loved the whole of it! (do it again)

"Do it again" reminds me of an experience I had during a period when I hadn't been writing poems. I was driving somewhere when I felt a subverbal rhythm that I recognized as an embryonic poem. Soon as I found a safe spot and pulled over I began to put words to that rhythm: "A shiver of something quick..." but stopped because - damnit! - it was a poem I'd already written years before


A shiver of something quick
goes through us now and then,
as if
the misaligned heart


were about to fracture under bone
or, far off in outer space,
a silent planet thinned itself
against the dark, unknown.


and so, of course, I couldn't write it again!

[Bar22do]

[INDENT]

All of the birds have gone south but one.
The slaughter of reason has begun.

No one wants the dinner to end
but everyone wants dessert.
NT]

Re-reading you I thought: that remaining bird... could it not be (amongst a number of other possibilities of your unconscious mind, or mine, or others'...) a witness and a trace of what mostly tends to be thrown to oblivion in the humanity? the flying messenger to make sure memory is preserved and men are warned??? or, in other words - consciousness, always challenged not to cover up with "alkaloids" (instead of treating the causes) that which disturbs its digestion...???

[PrinceMyshkin]

Re-reading you I thought: that remaining bird... could it not be (amongst a number of other possibilities of your unconscious mind, or mine, or others'...) a witness and a trace of what mostly tends to be thrown to oblivion in the humanity? the flying messenger to make sure memory is preserved and men are warned??? or, in other words - consciousness, always challenged not to cover up with "alkaloids" (instead of treating the causes) that which disturbs its digestion...???

I, too, see another way to read that first line - and why shouldn't I re-read and re-interpret it, as a stranger, since I plucked it out of the Jungian or Anyonian subconscious... At the very back of my mind may have been the phenomenon of the "snow-birds" (Montreal and other Canadians) who fly south, mainly to Florida, to Miami Beach, to escape the severity of Montreal winter. In that somewhat self-pitying context, I was the one remaining "bird."

And of course what a joy it is some/most of the time to play the dumb, humble servant of one's basement self.