Too late, I suppose,
to define what is deemed
the joy of connecting
with another mind
in a poetic phrase
pregnant with meaning.
I know that for most
the exercise is seen best
as a trial by expression,
an exorcism of passions
pressed from the maelstrom
of a seething core.
If it is pure, and the
mind is at rest, cured
by a lessening of pressure –
that which is birthed
regardless will be deemed
the essence of verse.
And in a sense it is – less
artistic hand guiding sentence
and syntax to forms blessed
by the eye, investing rhythms
which glide, connecting minds
in allegorical rhyme.
But it is in no-man’s land,
neither here nor there,
orphaned just short of a christening,
nameless and bereaved
before an inevitable
sentence to death.
© 21 March 2008, I. D. Carswell
to define what is deemed
the joy of connecting
with another mind
in a poetic phrase
pregnant with meaning.
I know that for most
the exercise is seen best
as a trial by expression,
an exorcism of passions
pressed from the maelstrom
of a seething core.
If it is pure, and the
mind is at rest, cured
by a lessening of pressure –
that which is birthed
regardless will be deemed
the essence of verse.
And in a sense it is – less
artistic hand guiding sentence
and syntax to forms blessed
by the eye, investing rhythms
which glide, connecting minds
in allegorical rhyme.
But it is in no-man’s land,
neither here nor there,
orphaned just short of a christening,
nameless and bereaved
before an inevitable
sentence to death.
© 21 March 2008, I. D. Carswell
I find this quite profound, Ivan. You've hilighted those magic moments for me, all too few. And not just in art, unless you were to include those epiphanies of other kinds, where we lose ourselves in sharing ourselves. Seems like they came easier when I was young, and the world didn't seem such a weight. Ah, well...
ReplyDeletejim