Posts tagged ‘truth’
of shattered moments
form fractal expressions
of beauty, made
by the shaping of near-molten metal,
are many forms of speech.
the image is of a smith at his (her) trade, hammering almost liquid metal
the fragments of you i remember
i know are (half? mostly?)
certainly part self-perception
like seeking true reflection
in the scattered bits
of a shattered mirror
frantically seeking that mirror’s repair
symbol of my longlost soul
or your clear remembrance
(no matter the foreknown pain, i
struggle to recapture
that searing moment
that our meeting was
but as i struggle
to collect those fragments
somehow they cut free, and i bleed
These are both ‘studies’ in the sense that they are exercises of a kind–experiments might I suppose might be a better word–in styles and in one mixing of an experimental style I basically abandoned with my ‘normal’ style. If there is a distinctive difference in much of my poetry and writing and general it probably results from the usage of more than one viewpoint or perspective.
*This in particular is a purely conceptual poem, the image created by a shattered mirror’s reflections (and the attempt to suggest that the apparent distortion may lend a kind of truth that may not be entirely specious). [There is also an echo of
‘sun on bright water
by a pebble’
which was my landmark poem in that it represented a definitive step into my own style without any hint of apology. Since I deliberately employed Grecian mythology in the poem to the extent that it is meaningless without its knowledge, it was a fairly brazen act. I lived with and amongst Christian Reformed people–Calvinists, who abhorred idolatry. But then my book report for the class for baptism was on Ship of Fools… I couldn’t resist and no one called me on it. In retrospect I still can’t believe it. I’ll leave it to the reader to find out which particular book I mean, with the hint that popular literature was just beginning.
it seems long since
i accosted the
and, o, the gifts
that he gave me:
have brought some joy, and all some pain:
but the worst–the best–
This does seem strangely apropos to me in light of current events–as pure irony–but then I’m prejudiced, I wrote it. It was written as irony in the first place. Well, not pure; I try to cram as many meanings into each line and word as I can.
Before I could enter first grade at the age I did, I had to be tested. Thoroughly. Twice, once by a psychologist and once to ensure I could understand the teaching materials. Remember, this is Oregon and that was the 1950s.
I already knew everything in first grade except math. I had problems with dyslexia for the first three years of school, although I only mentioned it once. [b:d, B:D, e, f and s are the ones I recall] Math tied me in knots until I [the word does not exist, however it is something I learned to do then and now constantly do; it is very similar to using an abacus to do math; also some relationship to ‘haiku’ [:actually, words/ideas contracted as much as possible+1] and origami (as well as using fractals software).
By 3 years later, I had learned to lie about what I knew. I had to claim to know less. That was just after my adoption.
Two years later, I tested above high school graduate.
Two years later, I tested as being able to challenge any course in Bachelor-level college except math. My parents wouldn’t allow it. At fifteen I was offered a scholarship all the way through Dordt college. My adopted parents wouldn’t allow it.
I needed one credit and one class to graduate when I entered my senior year of high school, and by the time I graduated from high school I had begun to live in rage. I had been promised to graduate from bootcamp E3 rather than E2 with a guaranteed A school. I would be able to become an officer (I turned that down, incidentally).
And in 1972 I was forced to become a ‘traffic checker’. I was too young. I wasn’t an E5 (I was a fucking E3). I was on my first enlistment. The DNC-5 said that all messages would be spelled correctly with correct punctuation and grammar. I enforced that. Someone pointed out to me I’d lose my privileged job if I kept on doing that with George Steele’s messages (look up Admiral, Commander Seventh Fleet, say, 1973). They would start checking me for drugs, for instance, instead of warning me about tests. I became more of a stickler. They gave me a higher security clearance and for about three years I knew…EVERYTHING about the Vietnam war. There was a minor addendum to that, no one else except the admiral did, which meant if I whispered one thing–if I screwed up once–if I ever lost control…why then, you see, they would know it was me. Out of thousands of military personnel. I had spies in foreign ports try to befriend me–I had our own spies test me. I was warned I’d be followed and then I was.
And in 2012 they finally more or less admitted it. “We don’t know precisely what Mr. [Charles] knew.”
By the way, Snowden is and was an idiot.
I had to leave the misspelling. Sorry.
This is a true story. I was being admitted to the stand by way of oath, so that I could (basically) testify against myself. What the case was about is another and irrelevant story (I will say the neurological doctor I had was infuriated).
The officer of the court–whichever he was–asked “Do you solemnly swear to tell the Truth, the whole Truth and nothing but the Truth?” [*There was an earlier time where ‘before God’ was still part of the ritual.]
I lied and said “Yes”. I proceeded to answer each and every question as accurately as I could.
The problem is that words are about us and not about what we perceive–they’re not even about the perceptions. They’re about what we have in common, “what we can point to”. I know your sorrow through your tears and grimaces, I guess at your joy through your smiles–and if I understand that language incorrectly, generally I am either criminal or ‘mentally troubled’–“or” in common usage includes “and”.
As I answered the questions I still deliberated on this. Had I told the truth I would have at least been held in contempt of court, although my other answers wouldn’t have varied.
All we know is form; all we can do is guess at content. That woman’s loveliness (to me) may be a source of fright to her–because she fancies I am staring at her. [That’s merely a fictional instance, by the bye.] Then again I found in the rather distant past that ‘her’ nervousness–since there was more than one and there was a span of years–that the nervousness on the part of women actually had signaled attraction.
I’ll admit I’m rather socially inept. Thus I don’t look, but look away. I’m also rather deaf, but then on the whole I’m grateful for that from what I remember, and I don’t turn my hearing aids up much at all except when listening to movies. In respects the internet has been a blessing to me because I can actually carry on meaningful relationships.