I try to imagine how it might feel being a broken wine glass trying to remember whether it held a red or a white when it was whole or to be a puff of smoke that disappears in seconds, existing for only a few moments, wondering whose lips it had passed through or to be a dream that never ends, to go places without moving, voyaging in my body, feeling just how filled with emptiness one can really be I try to imagine Future's jealousy of a Present that never ends, of a hope to touch, just once, the waters of the sea, to think imaginatively about the sun or moon or stars. I feel bad for forgotten things. Remembering hurts more.
Oh my god, Paul, this is a wildly beautiful and insightful poem. I just read it twice aloud and I'm a little taken aback. This is what poetry is for. Each stanza is packed with so much wisdom and beauty.
The first two stanzas feel just like being human, I think, if we adjust our perception of time. Between the very mysterious experiences of birth and death, we live a life much like that puff of smoke, a pattern of matter and energy making its way through reality, not really sure why it's here or what it even really is. Ephemeral and constantly changing, that's for sure.
The third stanza almost sounds like the Universe, or God him/her/itself, living an endless dream convincing itself it's made of separate individual consciousnesses (humans and other animals, at the very least). Your lines about being filled with emptiness perfectly capture this for me. What is it I/Me/Us/We are trying to do here? A grand experiment in pain, ego, and sheer joy? I hope we learn something from it. I think being creative is a wonderful step in that direction. Science too, of course. And even the very painful and hateful human endeavors. I hope we learn from them.
Then you name and capitalize the different aspects of time, and I think you're absolutely right. Future is just another dream Present is having. Present gets to have all the real sensory fun.
The last two lines wrap it up gorgeously. It is in our memory that our pain resides. A grapevine doesn't seem to feel most of this existential pain, for lack of a memory like ours. But perhaps that's just being too anthropocentric. A vine's scars tell many tales, hold many memories indeed. Ways it's had to wrap itself around rocks and trees, cut and bitten here and there, then hardened into wood in the very shape of its injuries, still present and alive, for now.
Great & Thoughtful response, Mike, throughout, but especially the words about the vine, twisting & turning and “hardening into wood in the very shape of its injuries” is a poem in itself. Beautifully written. Thank you!
Thanks! You inspire me quite directly sometimes. OK, with your encouragement, I've saved it and added a few newlines for now. Some of my favorite poems of my own have indeed come from spontaneous communications, not intents to write poems. This is what connection is all about.
Captures the essence of eclectic wine, drunk with puffs of smoke in a haze “ to go places without moving”, and repetitious, recurrent dreams, that sort out events like enrolling a ball of twine to find the end. I am Magine. There is some twinge of fate. Where water imagines to drip down icicles cane from eaves to return to the sea with sun, melt and moons, reflected light. You are the morning star and agree that forgotten things do hurt, but remorse like unresolved, recurrent dreams, can hurt more.
Jealousy is easy to imagine. As a country girl at heart, my dear aunt used to speak of my mother's jealousy as the ol' cliche, "green eyes." I've known Jealousy.
Your words (comment) continue to play in my mind. I thought you were talking about something beyond jealousy. I thought you were talking about the past informing the future, making it impossible to experience a present free of both.
Within the vagueries of awakening consciousness, such may perhaps be seen, as initiation into ever higher orders of knowledge and awareness. The fire strips the ego and a phoenix arrises in its stead. Then you will be channeling your highest truth and attribute it to Creator Consciousness.
After reading this I felt like the poem came to life and waltzed into my poetic dive bar (please know I mean this in the best way possible). Strange and wonderful when someone else’s work feels like it could pop into a project you hold close to your heart. Beautiful and haunting, very well done.
Oh my god, Paul, this is a wildly beautiful and insightful poem. I just read it twice aloud and I'm a little taken aback. This is what poetry is for. Each stanza is packed with so much wisdom and beauty.
The first two stanzas feel just like being human, I think, if we adjust our perception of time. Between the very mysterious experiences of birth and death, we live a life much like that puff of smoke, a pattern of matter and energy making its way through reality, not really sure why it's here or what it even really is. Ephemeral and constantly changing, that's for sure.
The third stanza almost sounds like the Universe, or God him/her/itself, living an endless dream convincing itself it's made of separate individual consciousnesses (humans and other animals, at the very least). Your lines about being filled with emptiness perfectly capture this for me. What is it I/Me/Us/We are trying to do here? A grand experiment in pain, ego, and sheer joy? I hope we learn something from it. I think being creative is a wonderful step in that direction. Science too, of course. And even the very painful and hateful human endeavors. I hope we learn from them.
Then you name and capitalize the different aspects of time, and I think you're absolutely right. Future is just another dream Present is having. Present gets to have all the real sensory fun.
The last two lines wrap it up gorgeously. It is in our memory that our pain resides. A grapevine doesn't seem to feel most of this existential pain, for lack of a memory like ours. But perhaps that's just being too anthropocentric. A vine's scars tell many tales, hold many memories indeed. Ways it's had to wrap itself around rocks and trees, cut and bitten here and there, then hardened into wood in the very shape of its injuries, still present and alive, for now.
Great & Thoughtful response, Mike, throughout, but especially the words about the vine, twisting & turning and “hardening into wood in the very shape of its injuries” is a poem in itself. Beautifully written. Thank you!
Thanks! You inspire me quite directly sometimes. OK, with your encouragement, I've saved it and added a few newlines for now. Some of my favorite poems of my own have indeed come from spontaneous communications, not intents to write poems. This is what connection is all about.
Thank you for restacking, @Chen Rafaeli
There are so many d things in this poem that spark curiosity. Overall it’s a great poem.
Barbara Stanwyck smoking. That’s all I can think about.
Now, that’s an image, Gloria!
https://images.app.goo.gl/gGzNWrMv8VRC3REK9
Barbara was smokin’!
She was indeed.
Captures the essence of eclectic wine, drunk with puffs of smoke in a haze “ to go places without moving”, and repetitious, recurrent dreams, that sort out events like enrolling a ball of twine to find the end. I am Magine. There is some twinge of fate. Where water imagines to drip down icicles cane from eaves to return to the sea with sun, melt and moons, reflected light. You are the morning star and agree that forgotten things do hurt, but remorse like unresolved, recurrent dreams, can hurt more.
Thank you, Richard
That was a very rewarding read. Thanks Paul:)
Thanks, Jonathan.
Fabulous. "Future's jealousy" are my favorite words.
Thanks, Catherine.
I love these ponderings, Paul.
They keep me engaged. Hope it’s the same for you and others!
"I try to imagine
Future's jealousy
of a Present
that never ends,"
Upon reading the whole poem a second time, this is where I'm pausing to absorb your words: ^
(I hope this comment isn't riddled with "technical difficulties" 😉)
"
Imagine that kind of jealousy, Catherine!
Jealousy is easy to imagine. As a country girl at heart, my dear aunt used to speak of my mother's jealousy as the ol' cliche, "green eyes." I've known Jealousy.
Your words (comment) continue to play in my mind. I thought you were talking about something beyond jealousy. I thought you were talking about the past informing the future, making it impossible to experience a present free of both.
I think the past never disappears and the future never arrives and we live in a present that mediates between the two.
Your words are poestic, a poem in themselves.
I'm thinking of perspective and reading your work from your perspective.
Going back now to read your original poem with your thoughts on Time.
Bingo!!
Thanks, Pamela!
I got through the entire last stanza and I think I understand what you are saying now. 👏
Hmmmm. I will have to ponder this.
Oh yes, oh yes.
Thank you, faye, glad this caught your attention.
It caught my attention and my breath
Thanks.
Within the vagueries of awakening consciousness, such may perhaps be seen, as initiation into ever higher orders of knowledge and awareness. The fire strips the ego and a phoenix arrises in its stead. Then you will be channeling your highest truth and attribute it to Creator Consciousness.
Thank you, Elliot
🙏 A pleasure, Paul.
After reading this I felt like the poem came to life and waltzed into my poetic dive bar (please know I mean this in the best way possible). Strange and wonderful when someone else’s work feels like it could pop into a project you hold close to your heart. Beautiful and haunting, very well done.
Thank you, Heidi, I appreciate your comment!
Damned autocorrect!? Adding a bit of a wicked snicker!
Oof, my heart! This is so beautiful!
Thank you for reading, Octavia, and for your comment!
Cogently speaks loudly for itself. Reflects peaceful bliss and at once, meaningful pain. Splendid poetry.
Thank you, JRC!
Seriously excellent. Feel free to quote me.😏
So glad I stumbled on this
I’m glad you stumbled on this, too, Queen Kebila-Thank you!