Buy pencils

[tectak]

I work here and I smile at you, or anyone that needs the cure. <"The cure", generally refers to alcohol treatment>
Open the door, come blubbering, and I will share your pain.
Gush crazily around my ears -- you start off insecure -- <"Gush crazily around my ears" seems a bit awkward>
but trust in me, I who am wise, will stop you going insane.

(I know, I know, of course, I know, and what do you believe?
How do you see this ending? How do you see reprieve?)

I work here; paid to listen to your pointless, pathomanic views.<"pathomanic" I assume this is a made up word?>
We could just scream, together rage against unknown conjoining foes;
Here, lie down on my parquet floor, let others form long queues
whilst we find calm on smooth, cool wood; maple, walnut, rose.

(I know, I know, of course, I know, and what would make you smile?
If I could tell you life is good would you believe me...for a while?)

I work here but you think of me as someone special, friend for life;
who listens to you, nods, approves, agrees, permits and ratifies. [b][/b]
How fine this wood, yes, rose I think, but maple, too. You miss your wife?
How long ago? A year? Oh, two? We have our time, but we all die.

(I know, I know, of course I know. We each grieve on our own
and nothing I can say will make it easy when you live alone.)

I work here but sometimes it seems that this is where I should not be.
A thanks is all my life is worth and more than that I don’t deserve.
Ah, look, that swirling, smoky grain…a sure sign that a walnut tree
was sacrificed for parquet floor, and so in death a purpose serves.

(I know, I know, of course I know. Don’t tell me any more.
Come back next week and we’ll discuss. Just go, and close the door)
I work here but I need someone to talk me out of other’s ways.
I must write down my inner thoughts and try to make some sense of me.
This wood is cedar, how its scent reminds me of my schoolroom days;
the shavings in the sharpeners. I’ll buy more pencils. Not 2B.

Seems to be trying to describe a therapist with burnout, or the writer is simply not familiar with the subject matter. Energetically, the poem does not move along, more like trudges. I cannot decide if the writer is being purposefully obscure, or just doesn't know the topic, either way the portrayal does not seem reality based. Being generous one could allow that maybe this is a metaphor for something, but I have no clue as to what that is. Maybe "the cure" hints at another malady, but again there is nothing in the poem that supports that. Obviously "wood" plays a prominent part in this, but I can no understanding from the poem what that might be.

Personally I think my first comment on this has about as much value as this longer one one.


Dale

Hi Dale,
This one needs a good shake because it fails to pull itself together . Friend of mine, dual citizenship, born Alabama but UK nationised, finds himself in a bad situation with his family; details not necessary but he loses his father when he was 13 years old.
At 30 years old he and one of his three brothers are going to visit his mother, he is driving, car crash, brother dies not a scratch on him...physically. The police advise him to seek counselling. He does but finds it useless. He told me that the counsellor was patently not interested in his state if mind and for 10 weeks of attendance he became angrier and more aggresive. I met the counsellor, socially, through coincidental circumstances and found her thoroughly depressed. I wrote this after that meeting changing the story line to avoid any claims to veracity.
Dren committed suicide ten years ago.
The thing is too superficial but it is almost 25 years old and is treated very much as a third person observational piece...due to a great extent to my lack of knowledge in the area and my lack of first person info.
SO key points are counsellor not therapist.
25years ago.
Based on a single reported incident then spun out.
Dump it? It is your field.
Pathomaniac exists but having checked I am surprised to find tha pathomanic does not. Good catch.
Best,
tectak

---

[quote='Caleb Murdock' pid='163172' dateline='1399032917']
Is this poem a riddle?

Hi caleb,
Probably...if you have never needed counselling!
Best,
tectak

Well, I don't get it. The speaker seems to be some kind of therapist, but then there's the stuff about pencils and wood (the wood sometimes being the wood of a pencil, and sometimes being the wood in a floor). Also, all the therapists that I ever saw were self-employed, although that seems not to be the case here. Since the speaker talks about "working here", that brings the employer in as an unnamed presence.

Am I being dense? Is the meaning obvious and I'm just not seeing it?

You make firm statements of fact and raise rhetorical questions...at least I assume they are rhetorical See my reply to erthona.
The wood references are indicative of the counsellor's mind wandering....like counting the ceiling tiles during a lecture on the mating habits of the giant three toed sloth...that is all.
Best,
tectak
PS It is sometimes best not to try too hard to "get" a poem. If you don't "get" it, it is usually the writer's fault. But be warned, some writers enjoy "obscure". I don't because I am not good at it and I like clarity not obfuscation...so call me simple.