In Vain
Car lights burn bright into my soul
Journeying
Again
Towards you
To try and make me whole
The mist on the glass
Or my eyes
Washed away by rain
Or tears
To clear my way, for yes
The hours pass with no clock ticking
Oblivious
The world passes by
Stationary
To lose no time in thinking
And beyond automaton, a higher plain
Looks at the world
Slowly
To understand
But does this in vain
©2004 Hey Hey
Full Version: In Vain
I hate to analyze poetry; it seems like vivisection, or tearing the wings off a butterfly. I studied too much Zen, perhaps, but... I think I would be more effective face to face; when I type words of any sort of analysis they immediately seem so locked and antithetical to the spirit of poetry. Yet, this is our forum and the only format in which to discuss our work together, so we must make the most of it, as I think indeed we are; the poetry board is blooming beautifully--thanks to you, Kevin, and Aiyana--and I am absolutely delighted with our progress. So I will do my best to work within this limitation of having to type into a box and try to maximize it and do the best I can with it. Do any of these my words explain my behavior as Poet in Residence vis a vis replying to posted poems? I hope so... I read the poems and understand and appreciate them. I fear to "classify experience," to destroy by analysis, in Eliot's words, "the moment in the arbor when the rain beat, the moment in the draughty church at smokefall." But I do my best, in my way. Above all else I am called to be supportive and encouraging, to be a midwife to the birth of now.
Dear friend, to your poem then: first of all, it resonates with me. I find that your skill is increasing. If I had to describe the increase of your skill, I suppose I would say that you are opening; that is to say, that you are becoming more free. You are more in touch, more in tune, more connected: more honest. Do you understand?
This poem is very visual. That is good. The car lights! "The mist on the glass / Or my eyes..." Now I shall have to quote the entire second section:
The mist on the glass
Or my eyes
Washed away by rain
Or tears
To clear my way, for yes
Now! This is good writing! You know how I feel about punctuation? How it is a condiment, a spice? This comma is a good comma, this comma before the "yes"!
The comparison/choice/parallel realities/options/layers/levels:
ah!
"To clear my way, for yes"
ah!
I mean "ah!" in the sense in which Hopkins means it. Remember? "And with ah! bright wings."
Hmmm... it is hard to discuss poetry in typing, isn't it? That's why I despair of trying; but do you see what I am trying to say? What you say in this poem can only be said in this poem: it can only be shown, not told. Now, for me to redact what you have shown by telling is to be a fool! Absurd! But what I am trying to do is tell you that you have succeeded in communicating with me; you have reached me, touched me.
I struggle to tell you the why of how I like this poem. Impossible? Yes. But that I make the effort tells/shows you that your poem reached me, touched me. And I make the effort in the hope that this will mean something to someone; to you, first of all, but then maybe beyond us two to others reading.
Poems are like pictures and show rather than tell; they tell, but they tell by showing. "Make every word tell." How? By making every word SHOW!
And you do that in this poem. This is your best poem yet, my favorite.
Your personal suffering is making a serious and important poet of you. Do you understand this, do you see this, feel this? We who read see this taking place, feel this. It looks/feels good for us, but it hurts for you. Your pain becomes our pleasure. This is sad, but art is born, is made this way.
Hey Hey, dear B, remember what Oppenheimer quoted when he saw the bomb?
"I am become death, and the destroyer or worlds."
YOU are become LIFE, and the creator of worlds: you are become a POET.
Congratulations!
In this way, our losing becomes winning, our death becomes life. In this way, we find meaning, and others find meaning in the meaning which we find.
", for yes"
Dear friend, to your poem then: first of all, it resonates with me. I find that your skill is increasing. If I had to describe the increase of your skill, I suppose I would say that you are opening; that is to say, that you are becoming more free. You are more in touch, more in tune, more connected: more honest. Do you understand?
This poem is very visual. That is good. The car lights! "The mist on the glass / Or my eyes..." Now I shall have to quote the entire second section:
The mist on the glass
Or my eyes
Washed away by rain
Or tears
To clear my way, for yes
Now! This is good writing! You know how I feel about punctuation? How it is a condiment, a spice? This comma is a good comma, this comma before the "yes"!
The comparison/choice/parallel realities/options/layers/levels:
ah!
"To clear my way, for yes"
ah!
I mean "ah!" in the sense in which Hopkins means it. Remember? "And with ah! bright wings."
Hmmm... it is hard to discuss poetry in typing, isn't it? That's why I despair of trying; but do you see what I am trying to say? What you say in this poem can only be said in this poem: it can only be shown, not told. Now, for me to redact what you have shown by telling is to be a fool! Absurd! But what I am trying to do is tell you that you have succeeded in communicating with me; you have reached me, touched me.
I struggle to tell you the why of how I like this poem. Impossible? Yes. But that I make the effort tells/shows you that your poem reached me, touched me. And I make the effort in the hope that this will mean something to someone; to you, first of all, but then maybe beyond us two to others reading.
Poems are like pictures and show rather than tell; they tell, but they tell by showing. "Make every word tell." How? By making every word SHOW!
And you do that in this poem. This is your best poem yet, my favorite.
Your personal suffering is making a serious and important poet of you. Do you understand this, do you see this, feel this? We who read see this taking place, feel this. It looks/feels good for us, but it hurts for you. Your pain becomes our pleasure. This is sad, but art is born, is made this way.
Hey Hey, dear B, remember what Oppenheimer quoted when he saw the bomb?
"I am become death, and the destroyer or worlds."
YOU are become LIFE, and the creator of worlds: you are become a POET.
Congratulations!
In this way, our losing becomes winning, our death becomes life. In this way, we find meaning, and others find meaning in the meaning which we find.
", for yes"
Dear Steven
That you have spent so much time reading this poem and writing your comments means so much to me. You have been the inspiration and mentor. I had the words but not the poetry. What I mean is, that I have written words in so-called "poems" for years, almost all unseen by others. But recently I have been encouraged by your wonderful "cryptic" (remember) teaching skills, and I feel that I am writing poetry. I feel like an improver, going somewhere now. I have a long way to go but with your encouragement I hope to head onwards.
Thank you Steven. You and dear Silke are true gentle people.
Hey Hey
That you have spent so much time reading this poem and writing your comments means so much to me. You have been the inspiration and mentor. I had the words but not the poetry. What I mean is, that I have written words in so-called "poems" for years, almost all unseen by others. But recently I have been encouraged by your wonderful "cryptic" (remember) teaching skills, and I feel that I am writing poetry. I feel like an improver, going somewhere now. I have a long way to go but with your encouragement I hope to head onwards.
Thank you Steven. You and dear Silke are true gentle people.
Hey Hey
Remember C. S. Lewis, and "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe"? There is a secret door; it has also been called the third eye.
What is it is to open the secret door, to open the third eye.
Through the looking glass, down the rabbit hole!
So, now your third eye is open.
Good! Scary, sometimes, but better. Now you can see things as they really are. There is the mere surface of things, and then there is everything else. One can either see things flat or in the round, in black and white or in color; do you know what I mean? Now your third eye is open, and you are blinking in the light.
"O welche Lust in freier Luft!"
So we stumble into the light.
It is fun to be a poet, to make things and to be useful. We are magicians; we are wizards. Do you feel the magic?
If anyone reads these my words and refuses to understand: stop! Open up! I am not just spouting nonsense; there is more to life than what you see. You can live deeper, live better, if you will open the secret door, open your third eye: live deeper by seeing farther.
Only some will know what I mean. I speak of magic: I speak of poetry!
Hey Hey, you are a poet, and you understand. You were born a poet; you have been a poet since the foundation of the world. We come into our destiny when it is time. You and I are about the same age; the hour seems late to those younger, but the only time is now, for any, ever, always. Now we are. Now we are poets.
It is fun, and it is fun because it is meaningful, and it is useful.
Why do we live? Not just to respire, suspire, retire; we live to make life, we are created to create.
It is beautiful to be alive, even if we are in pain. My pain proves that I am alive, and I will take it and make beautiful and good and useful things of it, by it. I win: vincero! You win too.
Write poems and know that you are good at it. You are good. You are useful. Since you are English you will understand what I mean: it is good to be useful and useful to be good. To be useful is to be meaningful. Having been created we create, healing we are healed.
I know that these my words are all utter nonsense to anyone whose third eye is closed, but that does not bother me at all.
You either get it or you don't. This is the secret: of poetry, of life, of everything.
You either get it or you don't. You are getting it, Hey Hey. Me too.
It feels good! It is like a breath of fresh air: an inspiration, an inspiriting. That is life coming in. Life comes in and drives out death. The wind of life--the spirit/breath/wind of life--blows out the dust and spiderwebs.
Hoer auf zu beben!
Bereite dich zu leben!
I have decided that I will teach poetry now, and I will do this by learning. I am learning, and it feels good, like the clover in your field.
I will try to write a good sonnet today.
I have such a happy secret for Silke. Silkchen, if you are reading this, aren't you curious? Well, you will be pleased, I promise. It will be about... three weeks, I think. But it is also right now.
All my love to all.
What is it is to open the secret door, to open the third eye.
Through the looking glass, down the rabbit hole!
So, now your third eye is open.
Good! Scary, sometimes, but better. Now you can see things as they really are. There is the mere surface of things, and then there is everything else. One can either see things flat or in the round, in black and white or in color; do you know what I mean? Now your third eye is open, and you are blinking in the light.
"O welche Lust in freier Luft!"
So we stumble into the light.
It is fun to be a poet, to make things and to be useful. We are magicians; we are wizards. Do you feel the magic?
If anyone reads these my words and refuses to understand: stop! Open up! I am not just spouting nonsense; there is more to life than what you see. You can live deeper, live better, if you will open the secret door, open your third eye: live deeper by seeing farther.
Only some will know what I mean. I speak of magic: I speak of poetry!
Hey Hey, you are a poet, and you understand. You were born a poet; you have been a poet since the foundation of the world. We come into our destiny when it is time. You and I are about the same age; the hour seems late to those younger, but the only time is now, for any, ever, always. Now we are. Now we are poets.
It is fun, and it is fun because it is meaningful, and it is useful.
Why do we live? Not just to respire, suspire, retire; we live to make life, we are created to create.
It is beautiful to be alive, even if we are in pain. My pain proves that I am alive, and I will take it and make beautiful and good and useful things of it, by it. I win: vincero! You win too.
Write poems and know that you are good at it. You are good. You are useful. Since you are English you will understand what I mean: it is good to be useful and useful to be good. To be useful is to be meaningful. Having been created we create, healing we are healed.
I know that these my words are all utter nonsense to anyone whose third eye is closed, but that does not bother me at all.
You either get it or you don't. This is the secret: of poetry, of life, of everything.
You either get it or you don't. You are getting it, Hey Hey. Me too.
It feels good! It is like a breath of fresh air: an inspiration, an inspiriting. That is life coming in. Life comes in and drives out death. The wind of life--the spirit/breath/wind of life--blows out the dust and spiderwebs.
Hoer auf zu beben!
Bereite dich zu leben!
I have decided that I will teach poetry now, and I will do this by learning. I am learning, and it feels good, like the clover in your field.
I will try to write a good sonnet today.
I have such a happy secret for Silke. Silkchen, if you are reading this, aren't you curious? Well, you will be pleased, I promise. It will be about... three weeks, I think. But it is also right now.
All my love to all.
This is a new style for you! I like it! 
"The hours pass with no clock ticking
Oblivious
The world passes by
Stationary
To lose no time in thinking"
That one nearly broke my brain. I LOVED IT!!!! The fact that i had to look at this poem on an intellectual level is extremely stimulating! Thank you so much for posting this one.
~Much Love~
Megan
"The hours pass with no clock ticking
Oblivious
The world passes by
Stationary
To lose no time in thinking"
That one nearly broke my brain. I LOVED IT!!!! The fact that i had to look at this poem on an intellectual level is extremely stimulating! Thank you so much for posting this one.
~Much Love~
Megan
Dear Megan
Glad you liked the style. I've actually written in so many styles (as yet unposted) over the years and there are many more to come! If anything, I can't keep to one style. But then I'm like that with everything!
I knew that YOU would crack the cypher and "get it".
Thank you lovely Megan
Glad you liked the style. I've actually written in so many styles (as yet unposted) over the years and there are many more to come! If anything, I can't keep to one style. But then I'm like that with everything!
I knew that YOU would crack the cypher and "get it".
Thank you lovely Megan
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