one of my favorite jokes (and a bit about chaos and order)

[rumisong]

this joke is a perennial favorite of mine- it does sort of say something about how I see the poetic mind, so I thought Id share it here...

 

You may remember the story of how the devil and a friend of his were walking down the street when they saw ahead of them a man stoop down and pick up something from the ground, look at it, and put it away in his pocket. The friend said to the devil, "What did that man pick up?" "He picked up a piece of Truth," said the devil. "That is a very bad business for you, then," said his friend. "Oh, not at all," the devil replied, "I am going to let him organize it.

 

~

J Krishnamurti

 

I fully recognize that there is beauty in "organization" too, most certainly- and too, I fully recognize that this very beauty may well be Poetry to another, absolutely!

 

for me, this is not the end of the story though-

I have a mind that loves to organize,

and a mind that loves to free the cage doors from their hinges-

and for me, the poetry comes mostly from this liberation mind (of mine)

 

and so again, I can fully appreciate that for another, liberation may come from organization- liberation from chaos perhaps, and so, that is where their poetry comes from... I am fully comfortable with chaos and order- in fact, Im not sure I see the difference in nature- and so, I allow whatever comes to the poetry to just come...

 

how 'bout you all? what liberates poetry from your mind?

[rhymeguy]

For me I guess that personal saddness liberates the poetry from my mind. That is a struggle for me. I love the creative flow that comes with the saddness, I even enjoy the saddness a little, but such saddness is counter productive for life in general. I try to pull poetry from joy but it is a struggle and I find the results sub standard. About a year ago I did manage to produce some work that was generally happy with which I was content. It didn't last long. The older I get the more content and generally happy I become. Consequently the less poetically productive I am.

 

Thus is my tale of woe .

[waxwings]

this joke is a perennial favorite of mine- it does sort of say something about how I see the poetic mind, so I thought Id share it here...

 

You may remember the story of how the devil and a friend of his were walking down the street when they saw ahead of them a man stoop down and pick up something from the ground, look at it, and put it away in his pocket. The friend said to the devil, "What did that man pick up?" "He picked up a piece of Truth," said the devil. "That is a very bad business for you, then," said his friend. "Oh, not at all," the devil replied, "I am going to let him organize it.

 

~

J Krishnamurti

 

I fully recognize that there is beauty in "organization" too, most certainly- and too, I fully recognize that this very beauty may well be Poetry to another, absolutely!

 

for me, this is not the end of the story though-

I have a mind that loves to organize,

and a mind that loves to free the cage doors from their hinges-

and for me, the poetry comes mostly from this liberation mind (of mine)

 

and so again, I can fully appreciate that for another, liberation may come from organization- liberation from chaos perhaps, and so, that is where their poetry comes from... I am fully comfortable with chaos and order- in fact, Im not sure I see the difference in nature- and so, I allow whatever comes to the poetry to just come...

 

how 'bout you all? what liberates poetry from your mind?

 

Interesting notion, but, in strictly a light vein, I prefer the most accurate but still applicable use of a word. If poetry could somehow be liberated from my mind there would be no poetry left in it, and poetry might be better off for that. Would saying "released" be better than "liberated".? Maybe not, and either would be OK if I were to think poetry is somehow trapped in my brain. I'd prefer to think that if there is anything my brain does with poetry is to "exude" it. Any- and every-thing that is in my brain, whenever driven by some observation/event/thing/person, produces an emotion, a flash I try to capture in words by drafting a poem. If I am true to that emotion I will eventually "organize the right words" into a poem and hope poetry will emerge between the lines I have written.

 

BTW, there is little order in nature, if by "nature" we mean the more readily visible parts and not those subject to some mathematical analysis. In nature, chaos is natural due to, say, seasonal pressures/changes. It is the description of chaos that has to be orderly, and,to see the order we must look at parts of chaos at different magnification each. It is said that anything that tries to order the cosmos delays its demise by heat death.