Posted on | February 28, 2012 | No Comments
So I start trying out this poetry thing on twitter a couple of months ago and almost immediately it captures me for it is so much like painting by which I mean its ability to express all those wordless things that are what is true and meaningful and significant and to which the normal, humdrum background noise of conversation and prose can only communicate if both you and the other possess or are possessed by more than a modicum of mutual empathy or telepathy or a kind of vibrational resonance and passion for essential concepts so that my faltering attempts become a journal not only of my attempts to grasp this form framed by 140 characters, just as my paintings must always be infinitely compressed in a frame too small for the endless spirit that braids itself, it seems, into every thought and sense so that no matter what form of expression you use, whether it is a poetic structure, or paint on canvas, they are all always too small anyway.
In my recent awakening to a greater sense that transcendence is viable I discover this new way of packaging great gulps of information, translated glimpses of a beauty so massive it weighs as much as the world, or the galaxy with all the stars and the dark matter attached and somehow I discover you in my twitter stream, the equally massive beauty of those words which take me joyfully weeping out of mere mind for glorious timeless instants and I am led to buying the first book of poetry I’ve acquired in ten or fifteen years there there I discover a poet interview speaking to the very issues consuming me like a recursive timeslip paradox where the questions, or some of the many questions that I am exploring today are addressed in that gone past time unreachable except by the ink that then captured her thoughts and survived to be discovered by the accident of my assiduous pursuit to embrace a larger comprehension of my own process there in a book buried in a secondhand bin.
I am a quarter of the way through the book and I see this dark askance glanced portrait which, like your poetry speaks to so much more than a simple image of a person, capturing an entire realm of thought and consideration and I think it must be a tenuous thread of paper and ink stretching across time and slyly slipping into my consciousness, powering my awareness in the midst of many other poems in the book I thought unnecessarily obtuse, that percentage of the book, like the larger percentage of all books which, in reflecting the cosmos is perforce more dark matter than not was a bright star speaking of a constellation of experience and because I am ever in that place where I don’t know, or at least I don’t know much although the inextricability of content to context rings a cogent bell yet even with a gun to my head, that ultimate choice enforcer I still have trouble with the whole concept of a favorite thing I love every color on my palette indiscriminately and to address it as a constellation rather than the common tapestry allusion which for all its threads and complex weaving forms a tight coherent order and that flies in the face of my own perception where you draw your own lines from stellar points in your life and create images of mythic import of heroic dimensions which some part of that I inportunately now apply to you, a stranger, that you now partake of in some part of my own consciousness and which relegates you to an arms-length existence from my regard as heroes do though the continent between us is a more practical impediment.
I do not know if this stream of consciousness first into the rules for such things, which rules I am in any case unaware of and don’t really know if there even are any but I am nonetheless grateful to you who unaware inspired it even though I am generally an advocate of a plainer and more accessible speaking but it is an enjoyable context for content that would have a much different sense if expressed otherwise and I hope it is amusing and useful and in some way beneficial at some level of consciousness even if you might read it dutifully just because it was written for you, if not specifically then just because you are the audience but don’t worry about taking it too seriously as it is really just a way of saying thank you out of the joy of discovering you.
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