01-03-2018, 11:37 PM
We start our life deluded
by the world we hear around us,
then prise our eyes to open to the sight of what is real. the paradox of reality could be taken less literally as you anticipate the morale of the poem, to embrace one's destiny that which is "unknown", rather than the more basic epistemology which you demonstrate---albeit quite succintly---here
At first no strength nor sinew lifts to higher skies above us and we fall and stumble you use the verb "to stumble" twice in the poem which, demonstrates a contextual change and anticipates a measure of growth over time. this is effective and also clearly intentional, since the word "trip" is offset and surrounded by the change in meaning of the word stumble; here we have a sequence of images which reflects a different ordering of "groping" after one's destiny. This is all we can to do so without knowing precisely how our destiny will be fulfilled or realized.
onwards as we learn to touch and feel.
Toes, then knees, then feet… then free, from arms beneath our own raised hands, which held and supported as we went our jerky way.
This is the first delusion and it lasts until we realise, quite suddenly, that what we thought we had ‘til now was ours to keep and ours alone,
only to find our gift of life was not unique. Childhood ran beside us; it kicked and bit and pulled our hair and screamed when we hit back.
Through this we learned that others, too, have feelings, mirroring alarmingly our own…in some it comes quite early on, in others after years.
With words gleaned from a dictionary drifting in our noisy space, we pick up, more or less, enough to share our dreams…
and dreams are all we have until some other love befalls us, and only then does sharing become necessity.
Deluded once, now once again, how proud we are, how big our car, how wonderful our country pad.
Of course, it was not ever true that things were equal (or seemed so)…the weak will trip and stay behind,
some will not rise to touch the sky, some will fall before a day, while others take a slow, down path.
None care enough, not you or I…we who held fast to somesuch plan. Not a scheme we made ourselves,
a given route from where we were to where we went; oh, no…delusionary gods,
advisors, mentors, coaches, teachers…wiser men and less wise preachers…
all conspired to divert us from our "destiny", a known unknown.
The last long breath that draws us stumbling
back in to a world now real,
leaves us stripped
of all delusion.
Now blind
at last,
I see.
Tectak(feeling fine)2017
3rd line from end. Is that better vaga?
the poem concludes with a paradox, which is not always merited in poetry; at times, being a mere device for wrapping up an unconcluded poem. Yet here the poem has merited and rightly achieved this lasting sense of paradox,
by the world we hear around us,
then prise our eyes to open to the sight of what is real. the paradox of reality could be taken less literally as you anticipate the morale of the poem, to embrace one's destiny that which is "unknown", rather than the more basic epistemology which you demonstrate---albeit quite succintly---here
At first no strength nor sinew lifts to higher skies above us and we fall and stumble you use the verb "to stumble" twice in the poem which, demonstrates a contextual change and anticipates a measure of growth over time. this is effective and also clearly intentional, since the word "trip" is offset and surrounded by the change in meaning of the word stumble; here we have a sequence of images which reflects a different ordering of "groping" after one's destiny. This is all we can to do so without knowing precisely how our destiny will be fulfilled or realized.
onwards as we learn to touch and feel.
Toes, then knees, then feet… then free, from arms beneath our own raised hands, which held and supported as we went our jerky way.
This is the first delusion and it lasts until we realise, quite suddenly, that what we thought we had ‘til now was ours to keep and ours alone,
only to find our gift of life was not unique. Childhood ran beside us; it kicked and bit and pulled our hair and screamed when we hit back.
Through this we learned that others, too, have feelings, mirroring alarmingly our own…in some it comes quite early on, in others after years.
With words gleaned from a dictionary drifting in our noisy space, we pick up, more or less, enough to share our dreams…
and dreams are all we have until some other love befalls us, and only then does sharing become necessity.
Deluded once, now once again, how proud we are, how big our car, how wonderful our country pad.
Of course, it was not ever true that things were equal (or seemed so)…the weak will trip and stay behind,
some will not rise to touch the sky, some will fall before a day, while others take a slow, down path.
None care enough, not you or I…we who held fast to somesuch plan. Not a scheme we made ourselves,
a given route from where we were to where we went; oh, no…delusionary gods,
advisors, mentors, coaches, teachers…wiser men and less wise preachers…
all conspired to divert us from our "destiny", a known unknown.
The last long breath that draws us stumbling
back in to a world now real,
leaves us stripped
of all delusion.
Now blind
at last,
I see.
Tectak(feeling fine)2017
3rd line from end. Is that better vaga?
the poem concludes with a paradox, which is not always merited in poetry; at times, being a mere device for wrapping up an unconcluded poem. Yet here the poem has merited and rightly achieved this lasting sense of paradox,
plutocratic polyphonous pandering