Poetic interpretation No1 #poet

The poet is disjointed, clunky even, in the manner of expression. The poet supersets thought into direct messages. Ideas are compacted to match this chosen channel. Loose notions are discarded, as language is pared down so as to be transmitted in a minimalist form. There is a fine line between the period of poetic form and code.

If poetry is the result of some kind of short circuit of language, then it becomes easier to explain. Now we move in the realm of direct communication. What is intended to be shared and what is redirected is the root of misunderstanding.

If I would write:~

I am long wounded since the rush of youth,

And my awkward lesson in love.

By fruitless devotion my unguarded heart

Was first scarred by the wakening of truth.

As the poet I have a notion of the narrative I am attempting to describe. In this case the circumstances of a first love, albeit unrequited. The are no details of the age or what was awkward, but it would seem at least from one perspective the feeling was full on, with little regard for the possibility of rejection. On looking back to this time, the subject seems to be accepting the hard fact of rejection,and bares the scars of this early romantic encounter.

The form deals witha real situation. The four lines describe an important lesson in life. The poem may well cover an episode which could take a chapter to convey in prose.

C 2019 Christopher Thompson.

All rights reserved.

5 thoughts on “Poetic interpretation No1 #poet

  1. That’s it. Truly. And that’s what pisses me the fuck off. Because… i wax lyrical quite unintentionally, so long as there is no expectation on the form of prose.
    I have constructed poems out of half started blog posts that contain only a heading and may be a couple of variations of the same line. Just shoving my friggen “drafts” into a single post and hit publish. Wow, so succinct, much wise, insider insight.
    But I want to contribute complete, whole, useful writings. Anyone can write poetry (albeit most akin to paltry poultry, than poetic prose) but… oh I don’t know. Maybe that’s why it’s so disdainful. It’s self-serving tripe. Art, is beautiful, and poetry is art. It is the escape from the responsibilities and fucked up reality of life. A luxury of the idle and the fortunate, as the rest of society worries about carrying the whole of society. Dope them up to keep them quiet and placid, or dope yourselves up so you don’t have to hear their moaning and whining. Uuuuuuggggghhhhhhhgg

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    1. You cancel Art by any act of deliberate, conscious consnutruction. I once pontificated that “all art lies within the flooded brow”. It is made from thrashing about. That’s what you do. It’s what I do. I recognise you. Now, have done with analytics, leave that to the dry people. Sketch only what you feel. It is not possible to plan any of this, you already know what you must do. Collect your thoughts they are all you have. (Family is encumbered in your psyche and is a given). Drain all science from your at. What ever you do, you mnuust remain exppressive. Flinging paint at the sky is pointless. But where you stand imls where the art is made. A waking first full of fingers can write off science in a hand beat. Music opens the mind, words open door to experiences shared. There is no one plot which we all must follow. We are above myth. Let the sheep bleat like the quire eternal. We trail blaze like those before us. Come let us link arms and march together into this here Sanatorium

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      1. Haha omfg I know. I’m a garbage analyst. I can try to analyse but it’s garbage. What I do is just talk to people. I blah and it flicks on a lightbulb for them, or blows a fuse.
        So I dunno. I’m doing that thing that I do. Which is just exist. Blog about shit, write or share a thing I’ve written, sing a song, reminisce, share photos or memories. And voila, I am art? Or a shining star that illuminates for others, but if I try to do a thing, I just end up destroying it?????!!!! The Midas touch. Mother fucker just wanna hulk smash.
        Lol. It’s funny. I’m not that big but I try to stomp and whatever like I am. Grrr! Crush! Puny! Human! Skulls!

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    2. Art. Just re reading your last piece, Kim, I too have a thought about the na yourture of art and is place in life. Yes most certainly at is a luxury. I am formulating and must stop. I will soon publish a view on art, and it is not to distant from your statement.

      Now whilst it may be a truism that anyone can write poetry. I think it’s a falseism, doggerel is rife, as is piffle. The message understood is the essence of good poetical exchange. Anything else is drivel.

      Prose, is quite a separate entity. I place no value judgement nor make comparison. I only know what I am. A Poet and failed actor. ( WELL ACTUALLY HAVING STUDIED DRAMA AT L.A.M.D.A. I DID NOTHING WITH IT! Summer of 1974. Yes I remember it well).

      It’s late here 12.53 am 15/02/19 I’m in the sack, so Kim it is good night from me. Have a good rest of your day.

      Chris.

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