|| posted on 26-11-2008 at 23:02
|Swish thanks for sharing, I for one can identify with the written word.
Best regards the Bear
|| posted on 26-11-2008 at 13:30
That's a fair point. Of the 200 or so people at the event in question I'd truly like to think I was the only person experiencing it the way I did
for the reasons I did (sorry if that's cryptic, I am more than happy to explain what the poem is about if it is relevant).
Probably, though most of the stuff I write is for me, as a sort of therapy. The one above is a particaulrly good example of something I needed to
express, tears alone weren't enough.
I don't think so for the reason given above.
I don't think so to that either though I'm less sure about that one!
|| posted on 26-11-2008 at 13:22
|If every poem was tailor made for a unique situation, how would anyone else be able to relate to it?
Surely, a poem should be a form of communication - a means of including people in an experience.
Which reminds me of another discussion I had about this, well, two actually. One was about keeping art in the attic and not sharing it with anyone -
ie, if you paint or write and keep it to yourself, does that detract from its value as art.
And the other point was about the Hitler paintings. Whether its important to know the background of the author or artist. Are Hitler's paintings
any less good or bad because you know something about him?
|| posted on 26-11-2008 at 11:52
Taken as such - that's precisely why the specifics aren't there, it would indeed be a tome if I explained all the background, though in my mind it
loses something in not conveying the specifics. and thanks!
|| posted on 26-11-2008 at 11:42
|I've said to others in your situation, Janet, and this also applies to the author of the OP. I feel for you, but have yet to walk down that road, so
I can't pass any meaningful empathy in your situation. Everyone copes in different ways, what ever works for you, it's not up to me to say how well
you are coping. I may observe changes, but that is another subject.
Good piece, Swishie, the specifics are irrelevant. The poem conveys the emotion, which is as it should be. If it conveyed specifics and little
emotion, it would become a dirge (very loose application of the word here). A large mix of both, and it becomes a tome! I am not, nor have I ever been
an english educator, so please take it as friendly encouragement, and not a critique.
|| posted on 26-11-2008 at 10:56
|I hear this.
And I, as you, am fed up with people telling me how well I'm doing.
I don't have a choice, really, now do I?
|| posted on 26-11-2008 at 10:53
Thank you It's hard to explain the difference between functioning and
|| posted on 26-11-2008 at 10:50
|| posted on 26-11-2008 at 10:38
|"This is not coping
This is simply doing what must be done."
We've discussed this many times - but you put it very well.
|| posted on 26-11-2008 at 10:32
|Wow! That is incredible, and the specifics don't really matter. You have described the kind of emotional turmoil that attacks most of us on
occasion, and have done it exceeding well.
|| posted on 26-11-2008 at 09:59
|Prompted by a discussion in another thread, I post this with a question, does it matter if the poem below does not convey the specifics of the
situation I'm describing here or is the communication of the emotional experience sufficient?
I cannot eat
My body rejects sustenance
Trying to purge me somehow.
This is not coping
This is simply doing what must be done.
A kind of calmness descends.
But as it begins
My legs tremble
And my head spins
My heart thumps
As if to burst out of my chest.
This room is full of pain.
Words bring tears
Gentle, unashamed weeping
This is what I am here for.
But as I listen my face tightens
Till it feels made of stone.
Tears are not enough
A pain seem to drag
The sides of my mouth
Into a grimace
Eyes squeezed shut
And still the pain worsens.
I want my Mum
But she is gone too
Also too soon, also too young
My face cracks open with a sob
Deep shuddering waves of misery.
Grief remembered and new sorrow felt
But also the primeval fear
Of a place I once inhabited
And where I will never return.