Notes to Self. Edited out of misc

[tectak]

tectak, you say that this is not "A" poem, but many thoughts. I like that your poem itself seems to be "aware" of this-- your first line suggesting that "I" (the poem?) is a compound. Here are some of my thoughts:

I am the sum of many parts, some circumstance and fate.
I know myself or think I do, but strange, through compound  eyes I see
the circling dance of others who divide their lives by love or hate;
(there's an interesting tension of imagery here- circling (encompassing) and dividing. I see it in the second line as well- to know oneself is to encompass oneself, but the doubt "divides" this sense... I'm interested in the sense in which you use the word "by"- do others divide "by" love and hate in the way one navigates "by" the pole star? or are "love" and "hate" more operative, as one hews lumber "by" the axe?)
espousing this, negating that, assured by their life policy.

I really enjoy the rhythm of the first line- very iambic- but it feels a syllable short compared to the subsequent lines. If this is intentional, there's something witty to it-- although the speaker (again, is the "poem" the speaker?) is the "sum of many parts", it is "missing" one from the outset. This also seems to work with the tension between "whole" and "divided" I see in the first stanza.

To those who see in monochrome I am a man of grey;
but slit me with a keen-honed word, or puncture me with pointed pen,
and all the well-red (the "well-read" pun is a bit beneath the speaker) blood will pour, from all who had a part to play
in casting me to be just one among a million, million men.

Following the imagery here, does one who sees in monochrome see the red of the blood? I don't have a good sense about it. I'm interested in what the last thought offers with the dramatic imagery- those responsible for "casting" usually don't have "parts to play" in theatre. Is the speaker suggesting that those "casters" were merely "playing a part" themselves?

Surprises now are less and less, fresh thoughts a (maybe replace "a" with "now"- "thoughts" is plural but "memory" is singular- does this mean that all the fresh thoughts are ONE memory?) memory. ("less" tends to be an evaluation of the qualitative, and "fewer" of the quantitative. Is it pedantic to suggest that, if the speaker means "there aren't as many surprises" that you make him say "fewer" instead?)
So dance for me a different waltz, and swirl me off to somewhere rare. (I like the internal rhyme. It itself is rare, and given the dancing language, works well with the rhythm of the poem)
Spin while you can in certainty that this is how our world should be;
take me along but bind my eyes, abandon me when we get there.

Now I am old and you are young…you follow on my trail. (I feel that you're going for something with this line following the last as it does, but I can't quite tell-- now the speaker is a leader, but first he was lead)
Look down, though, once the scent goes cold when only stones in fading view
still guide you by that final sense (having "sense" follow so soon after "scent" is a bit jarring). Touch each before you grow too frail
then sit and call out names you knew; they will be calling you.

This reminds me of the old Oedipus with Antigone- the old man having "seen" so much, but now is blind, with a younger soul at his side.
 
If Love and Hate (capitalized here but not in the first stanza. Whether intentional or not, I'd keep it this way. They have become entities by this time in the poem, have grown more salient) should shadow me , the journey will not end.
I’ll walk alone— a  penalty— for wearing truth’s concealing mask,
instead of being someone else; a lie in love, a pretend friend (another internal rhyme, but this time the phrase is juvenile. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, considering your themes of age).
Daylight dawns late, where is the path? But it’s too late to ask.  

Again, in this stanza, I hear Oedipus- truth conceals truth

Though I am lost I need not know where is this place…where am I now?
I flew with trade winds, words were gold, and all desired my contraband;
but current wins against the  breeze. Once no one steers, the pointing prow    
on awkward tide turns out to sea, then grateful founds (I'll have to look up "founds", but it is a full word. Aside from connotations of "finding" and "founding", it also suggests "foundering") on foreign land.

In the last stanza I see more Odysseus than Oedipus- a man with golden words, lost at sea...

Tectak
From “A Diary” 2009-2015

General thoughts:

I see some possible references to bees- the "compound eyes", the "circling dance" in 1, "one among a million" in 2, reference to following scent in 4, flying against the winds in 6. Is this a theme you're aiming for?

A last thought- though you say this is more a miscellany than one poem, I'd suggest giving the speaker a little more definition. I like that I hear him all throughout, but I can't quite make out who he is-- is the the poem, is he an old man, is he a wanderer? One suggestion toward lending him some definition is that you recycle some theme from stanza one into the last stanza- "circumstance and fate" jumps out, and you have the seeds of it there already with the "washing ashore" imagery- I'm thinking of Paul shipwrecked on an island- circumstance and fate (providence) conspired... Thanks for sharing it!

Many thanks for this comprehensive crit. I have wrestled with the purpose of this piece for some time and am still unsure if it works. The idea was to selectively present salient cameos from over a developing time span and to see if it was possible to stitch them together invisibly...hoping that this would be possible as the weaver, me, surely would be characteristically stereotyped. I was surprised to find that this was difficult. Nonetheless, it is work in progress and I genuinely appreciate your input. Watch this space.
Best,
tectak