07-11-2022, 08:11 AM
I got drunk and wrote six poems within the last hour.
I'll save the rest for other days.
This poem, the second to last line, what was going on as I was writing that was this:
I'm uncertain that they feel what I feel about these autumn feelings.
I'm saying that they, or rather, I, don't know and can never know, if they feel that profound feeling I feel.
The feeling is what is uncertain.
I can explain and relate with the general idea and concept. But that feeling . . . ? . . .
And I'm saying that I hope knowing will suffice. At least until I can ever experience otherwise.
Does that make sense?
So the second to last line, looking it over, is saying that they know that they feel what I feel. I'm saying that, I want that, but I don't know that they feel that way. My knowing is not for sure. And that explains the awkward phrasing on my end. How about yours?
More than the poem, I would like to know that people feel the same way, or close, to how I feel, these little nuances in fall. Little things. Like a dog in a bush on an autumn day. The connotations such stirs.
Or do I have to invent or reinvent that through art. Seems a shame.
A shame for me. Others probably have their own unique feelings.
I'll save the rest for other days.
This poem, the second to last line, what was going on as I was writing that was this:
I'm uncertain that they feel what I feel about these autumn feelings.
I'm saying that they, or rather, I, don't know and can never know, if they feel that profound feeling I feel.
The feeling is what is uncertain.
I can explain and relate with the general idea and concept. But that feeling . . . ? . . .
And I'm saying that I hope knowing will suffice. At least until I can ever experience otherwise.
Does that make sense?
So the second to last line, looking it over, is saying that they know that they feel what I feel. I'm saying that, I want that, but I don't know that they feel that way. My knowing is not for sure. And that explains the awkward phrasing on my end. How about yours?
More than the poem, I would like to know that people feel the same way, or close, to how I feel, these little nuances in fall. Little things. Like a dog in a bush on an autumn day. The connotations such stirs.
Or do I have to invent or reinvent that through art. Seems a shame.
A shame for me. Others probably have their own unique feelings.