A LESSON OF LIFE AND LOVE FOR ALL AND NONE

[puzzle91]

A LESSON OF LIFE AND LOVE FOR ALL AND NONE


It comes to its conclusion,
much too sudden and abrupt,
feeling like closure, without any condition,
to close, or to hold and to mark,
like an end and also a beginning,
just without a proper start;

What remains is invisible to the eye,
this or that ghost's paraphernalia,
his whisper, an undefined remark,
as invisible as it seems - as it remains,
mere susurres of a residue,
left by a once beating heart.
Glance into the moment,
identify its one disguise,
give it a persona, a name,
and acceptingly surmise: What?
The only truth you and I know.

True, it is not untangible per se –
but rather, in our grasp,
it is transformed, almost like a polymorphic stream,
this life in our blood, that rushes through veins,
yours and mine, in its hurry, bursting at the seams.
But what – what is this phenomena,
what could it actually be?
What lingers on these walls?
Whose voice is that, I hear, murmuring,
From whose mouth pours all this debris?

I rather not say, I rather not know,
now, that this is set and done – I interrupt it here.
What begs to be told, foremost, is, however,
a conclusion you already know:
This resumes from whence it once came; nowhere,
and if it is yet to come, then, so it is, what never became.
In that case, truth, is, truly, one and the same, with what is false.
Just like what is now is likely to never have been then,
and anything here is like anything there,
one and the same, neither at the end nor beginning of,
where, eventually, everything goes to be.

[rowens]

It's good in desperate doses. Some areas are hard to chew, and you just have to force it down. This is a piece of writing that eats itself alive. Near the end, language starts to fall apart, and turn back on itself: like, "Just like what is now is likely to never have been then,
and anything here is like anything there,
one and the same, neither at the end nor beginning of..." "FOR ALL AND NONE", that's Nietzsche, right? The subject, and whatever else gets attached to it, turns itself inside out, and cancels itself out. Is it good or bad? I don't know; but it works on the level I'm reading it from, at the moment.

[Todd]

Hi puzzle, welcome to the site! Here are my initial thoughts.

This has an issue that I usually see in early fiction drafts. It tries to be too cryptic. "It comes to its conclusion." I'd consider replacing pronouns throughout. Its more philosophical argument than poem in its current state. Too wordy and esoteric without enough solid phrasing and images. As an editing step, I'd cut half of it, and see what you have. Can you make it work? With concepts consider imagery over adjectives. Just some thoughts. I hope they help.

Best,

Todd

A LESSON OF LIFE AND LOVE FOR ALL AND NONE


It comes to its conclusion,
much too sudden and abrupt,
feeling like closure, without any condition,
to close, or to hold and to mark,
like an end and also a beginning,
just without a proper start;

What remains is invisible to the eye,
this or that ghost's paraphernalia,
his whisper, an undefined remark,
as invisible as it seems - as it remains,
mere susurres of a residue,
left by a once beating heart.
Glance into the moment,
identify its one disguise,
give it a persona, a name,
and acceptingly surmise: What?
The only truth you and I know.

True, it is not untangible per se –
but rather, in our grasp,
it is transformed, almost like a polymorphic stream,
this life in our blood, that rushes through veins,
yours and mine, in its hurry, bursting at the seams.
But what – what is this phenomena,
what could it actually be?
What lingers on these walls?
Whose voice is that, I hear, murmuring,
From whose mouth pours all this debris?

I rather not say, I rather not know,
now, that this is set and done – I interrupt it here.
What begs to be told, foremost, is, however,
a conclusion you already know:
This resumes from whence it once came; nowhere,
and if it is yet to come, then, so it is, what never became.
In that case, truth, is, truly, one and the same, with what is false.
Just like what is now is likely to never have been then,
and anything here is like anything there,
one and the same, neither at the end nor beginning of,
where, eventually, everything goes to be.

[puzzle91]

First of all, I want to say thanks for the feedback. I will make some adjustments so that it becomes a more 'digestible' read.

It is indeed based on a lot of Nietzsche's ideas (esp. from his book Thus Spoke Zarathustra). I wrote this poem (if it can be referred to as one), not to provide a definite answer to what is the nature of life, love etc. but rather to elucidate an uncertainty and a confusion that exists in our understanding of such things. At least that was the intention. As to the language, towards the end, when the poem draws towards its conclusion, I tried to evoke some of that 'paradoxical' circularity that some claim to be part of Nietzsche's work. I did this, not because i believe his ideas are incoherent or his arguments unsound but instead because i think it is intrinsically linked to what I'm trying to allude to in my discussion life and love.

I'm not trying to make this a philosophical poem (although I find it a fascinating subject). From experience, I have found that the more we try to understand and pin-down explanations to life and our love affairs, the more exposed we become to things that completely turn our (preconceived) ideas up-side-down (or inside out, as you said). Our notions to Life and Love often turn out to be completely different to what we first expected them to be; similarly, the crux of the poem (or its 'lesson') is not to expect anything except that life and love are finite in existence: although true experiences, we should accept that they come and go just as easily as they appear and disappear before/to us.

All in all, I agree it is messy but i hope this does not prevent it from being enjoyable

---

Thanks again for all the constructive criticism! I'll give those adjustments a go and I'll get back to you as soon as it's ready

cheers

[billy]

in places you have to much grammar, there's also a fair few clichés in there.
it feels a bit like Schroedinger's cat is the subject matter and not life or love etc.
there's a lot going on but i'm struggling to see any substance. that said, the writing isn't that bad, ideally you could add depth to it and make it a more enjoyable poem.

[rowens]

The good thing about it is how you show the endless banging of a head against invisible walls. Until everything breaks loose, and meaning falls apart. So it's not necessarily bad. It's all your decision, about how or if it can be better.