All of Us in Our Nooks

in #poetry5 years ago

All of Us in Our Nooks

.
original poetry
& photos
.
@d-pend

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morning-sky-ashby-expanse-reverse-vignette.jpg


All of Us in Our Nooks

In pedestrin nooks where tears and toils,
dreams in farms of thoughts unloyal
spring mundane from heartless truce
of form with formless, love let loose.

A ruthless spectre, potter's glen
arising with soft westward wind.
Sad silhouette of maker's bliss
to tame me with unfurling kiss.

O fleeting moments, closer fades
of fate with timelessness in glades.
Nothing said and nothing gained
in figures lost of times entrained.

Channels torn through solid stone,
believer's anguish borne alone.
In des'late trails of gridbuilt looks
our love is laved—pedestrin nooks.


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Writing & photos
by @d-pend
.
Nov. 3, 2018

.
pictures taken
with iPhone 8+


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Note:
"Pedestrin" is a three-syllable shortened variant of 'pedestrian',
as "des'late" is a shortened form of 'desolate'.

The difference is that pedestrin is quite easily pronounced by sight and looks awkward apostrophized (pedestri'n) while 'deslate" could be confused for de-slate, des "late", or others: so "des'late" is the clearest way to notate it, in my view.

Stay tuned for a future post (tomorrow?) where I include the audio recitation of this poem and do some musing on poetry's relation to music, especially where it concerns rhythmic stringing together of words and brainstorming ways to resolve the problem of a general lack of rhythmic notation in writing poetry: particularly where the author has a very specific intended rhythm near-impossible to intuit due to its syncopated or somewhat stilted nature.

Excited? I am! Enjoy my run on sentnece? Hope so! I'm betting a few people have some great insights into the topic. But for now, I must retire. Have a great night!

Dan

oh, Daniel, thank you for explanations!
It would be great to see some notes for your poems oftener, sometimes I'm lost in the unknown words, which are a mystery even for Google translator;(

"Pedestrin" - my guess about this word was right even without reading your comment, yohoo;))
de-slate was more complicated;)
waiting for the audio version;)

Greetings, @d-pend.
I'm guessing these images are from Texas, where you lived before you went to NC and where you have returned after that interim.

I was commenting to @zeleiracordero how these images and some of the lines reminded me of my visits to my hometown, after having left for many years, after so many things have changed and had been forgotten, especially people and their stories.

I sense nostalgia (from childhood, maybe adolescence) highlighted by a first love, maybe. For me those are the most precious memories of our hometowns. The fleeting moments of pedestrian nooks that became temple, refuge, battlefields even. Some of those places remained unchanged, others changed so much we can’t even remember what they looked like.

One of my greatest regrets is not having taken pictures of places that meant a lot me as I was growing up and that were transformed in time, mostly for worse, and it hurts me not to be able to reconstruct most of the memories.

So, in this poem I see this sort of liberating love experience, a childish one, but with the intensity and conflict of a Romeo and Juliet affair. One of the two is uprooted (tamed?)

At this point I was also thinking about the imposing figures of the trees in the picture. Majestically victorious. How many obstacles did they fight to get that high? How satisfactorily it must feel to see their surroundings from above, to provide different kinds of nooks for those looking for shelter! How much of that sap flows through us?

This particular stanza gave me the chills

O fleeting moments, closer fades
of fate with timelessness in glades.
Nothing said and nothing gained
in figures lost of times entrained

I actually had a glade in the middle of a selvatic lot in front of my house. I would hide with my friends, play cowboys and Indians or explorers. As time past our forest became a square and my friends became perfect strangers.
The love of my childhood will always have a special place in my mind and will always infuse those changed spaces of an aura of purity and transcendence beyond the mundane wars and truces, beyond the transgressions and disloyalties. No stains remain.

In des'late trails of gridbuilt looks
our love is laved—pedestrin nooks

Hi, @hlezama! Thanks as always for your thorough read.

I'm guessing these images are from Texas, where you lived before you went to NC and where you have returned after that interim.

Correct :-)

I was commenting to @zeleiracordero how these images and some of the lines reminded me of my visits to my hometown, after having left for many years, after so many things have changed and had been forgotten, especially people and their stories.

I always experience a strong feeling of disorientation returning to my hometown, especially because I grew up in the same house my whole youth. So much has changed, yes—most of all, from the cruel horseblinding effect of ego, myself. How much did I really see around me, anyway? Where is the solidity of the past's template that I could sense the deviations? Then we have the turning of the seasons and the procession of the Earth through space. What can remain? Nothing feels familiar, and the sense that it should makes it all the more unsettling.

I sense nostalgia (from childhood, maybe adolescence) highlighted by a first love, maybe. For me those are the most precious memories of our hometowns.

I tend towards a somewhat solitary existence, for the last several years. My only intimate relationship occurred during adolescence's formative period and extended a bit into my college years. You might predict, given such circumstances, that years would erode the monuments of memory we built very slowly. You might also not be so surprised that such an experience would continue to serve as an archetype for realities and idealities of romantic love. I am supremely thankful to have had such an experience, because it has provided endless fodder for creativity. I'm not sure I would make much of a poet, had the experience of heartbreak not driven me to seek the solace of some form of personospiritual faculty through which I could transmute and make sense of what had occurred.

So, in this poem I see this sort of liberating love experience, a childish one, but with the intensity and conflict of a Romeo and Juliet affair. One of the two is uprooted (tamed?)

Again, I am astounded and almost frightened by your ability to intuit what is behind a poem. Many times writing I am in a sort of reverie. I think of nothing but channel sound, cadence, and feeling. It's a meditation which is easily spoilt by over-efforting on my part. So, when I meet a perceptive spirit like you, I have the honor of meeting my poem more completely.

I actually had a glade in the middle of a selvatic lot in front of my house. I would hide with my friends, play cowboys and Indians or explorers. As time passed our forest became a square and my friends became perfect strangers.

Wow. That reminds me that when my parents came to my hometown, they were the first house in the block. Beyond their fence was fields until the creek some distance from our house, and coyotes would come up from there to howl. Now, you have to search to find nature. It is all concrete.

The love of my childhood will always have a special place in my mind and will always infuse those changed spaces of an aura of purity and transcendence beyond the mundane wars and truces, beyond the transgressions and disloyalties. No stains remain.

That's beautiful. I have a similar experience :-) Again, you managed to discern perfectly the feeling behind the phrase "our love is laved." You know, it's nice to know that if I'm ever confused about my poetry, I can ask Sifu Henry Lezama to explain it to me. xD

Hahaha. I'm flattered by your comment.
It is always a delight to dig into your work. I do it with all the passion and enthusiasm I can summon amid so much crap I have around.
It has been escapism of sorts. It does me good to image a time when I can give myself to literature in all its possibilities and devote creative energy to elevated visions without the barbwire of mundanity and political polution anchoring me to the underground.
I sincerely admire your talent, your vision of the world, your capacity to estrange yourself and your material from the simplicity of the cotidian, and yet keep, with the zeal of a parent trying to protect their offspring, the simple gifts that make us human and good safely stored under the dome of poetry.

@hlezama,

Hey H.

As usual, brilliant commentary.

It's funny, I feel the same way when I visit my childhood home.

Logically, we know that the world has moved on and that "there" will have changed, just like everywhere else. And yet, we want it to have remained the same, the way we remember it. A bubble untouched by Time.

Childhood, and its memories, exercises a powerful influence for the rest of one's life.

Quill

@d-pend,

Alright Daniel, this is getting out of hand ... GO BACK to writing Free Verse. You're stealing my thunder. No one ever listens to me about writing Verse ... except the one bloody guy who can write it flawlessly.

Shit.

Dan, this poem is masterfully crafted. It flows like honey.

The theme is poignant ... the most powerful emotion one can employ, and the mechanics are impeccable. Normally, I don't care for enjambment (because I think it generally creates weak line transitions) and yet, you pulled off all instances flawlessly.

Writing in Verse controls the "pause" and I really noticed it in this poem. And, as I've written repeatedly, The Power of Prosody is in the Pause.

What amazes me, and I commented on this once before, is that you've managed to merge Verse with that unique "d-pend style." Now you're getting all the dopamine that comes from the patterns of Verse ... while still creating that "mystique" for which you are famous (infamous). :-) You're having your cake and eating it too.

There's no excuse now ... whales should be upvoting this stuff.

BTW, I think you'll like this one:

https://steemit.com/funny/@quillfire/2bqbg2-delerium-merlot-quill-s-delerious-delights

Quill

Hahaha... I did oblige with a couple recent poems. You know, I always think of T.S. Eliot's proclamation that there is no such thing as vers libre. A poem not having flow and cadence isn't possible. It's like writing music without a meter. You can improvise or attempt to escape all bounds, but everything is inherently ordered. With "free verse" the only thing that might be argued to be free is your illusion of freedom while writing it.

What I've found, though, is the lack of a regular rhythm presents its own remarkable obstacle. For art to be impactful you have to set and break expectations. What's more, were you to try to make every line stilted, irregular, and strange, it wouldn't succeed. The brain instantly looks for any pattern however minute to make sense of reality.

So, I'm not sure I can be convinced that any truly "free" verse exists. Another interesting rabbit hole, coming from a musical perspective, is that most "verse" has irregular pauses and uneven phrasing in it, i.e. it can sound quite bad reciting it to a metronome. There are organic breathing points that add extra notes to some bars, and the length of syllables is not always equal.

Anyway, I was pretty surprised that I started getting so interested in verse, but as poetry has largely replaced music as my main form of expression, it really isn't so shocking. One thing I've noticed is for me personally, I have to write more intimately/emotionally when writing verse. Free-form can be more cerebral/abstract. With verse it tends to demand more of an anchor. For my style of expression I find that quite helpful to make my ideas more understandable and relevant.

Oh yeah, and that post link: thanks. I laughed my ass off. Anyway, I won't be expecting whales to suddenly acquire a taste for poetry any time soon. But, while I wait for hell to freeze over, I'll warm myself with some solid dia-logs embering under the chimney.

Dan

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Thank you for being here for me, so I can be here for you.
Enjoy your day and stay creative!
Botty loves you. <3

Greetings, Daniel! His beautiful poem painted in me the vision that we are solitary walkers of life, observers, more than protagonists of this breath of eternity that is life. And, suddenly, I saw myself writing these lines that I share, as an empathic commentary, sprinkled with poetry.

The passage of time
opens and closes scars in the soul.
Perhaps, because we take too many turns
and a thousand times we fall into the same traps,
in the same holes and turn common corners
without seeing each other.
We are spring that escapes running along the sidewalks,
looking for shade in accompanying trees.
The spirit fears to meet
free from that which continually grows.
Among confused forms, he wanders
sleepwalking or conscious,
or stunned by undulating plasma pathways,
caressed by presence without contours
surrounded by the lights that illuminate the corners.
This enchantment of the light
and the sounds that glimpse confident in the random maps.
That serene astonishment by nothingness,
gazing into the eternal labyrinth.
Beloved for eternity,
we don't even look at each other,
entrenched in comfort,
we reduce ourselves be islands in fear of love
and sorrow.

That's part of what I was thinking when I saw the corners and the shady bushes, the desolate streets.

It reminded me of what it felt like to visit my hometown after all my friends and acquaintances had left, after I had become a stranger and the town itself had become unknown territory.

It's a good thing we agreed on the impression the @d-pend poem caused us, dear @hlezama. Thank you for your comment.

@zeleiracordero,

Beautifully written. The poem seems to press a lot of buttons with everyone. Telling.

Quill

Thank you, appreciated @quiifire!

Hi @d-pend!

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Dear @d-pend sir!
Wisely dissolution of the word Pedestrin from your poetry's second last line.Without waiting for essentially the coming time, we should be conscious of our goal and always strive to move forward. No one can hide from time. From your fourth stanza.
Enchanting photography of autumn season. Sunlight over the trees and houses are giving peace to the mind.

Looking forward to your audio on this poem. I enjoy when you go beyond the written word - photos, audio, edits

Thanks! I've still not done it. Good reminder :-D
I made the decision a few weeks back to use only my own images for a while. A lot more work, but I've been learning a lot and it's definitely fulfilling.

Superb lines and beautiful photos my friend !

Thanks a lot @akkha!

Dan,
It's refreshing to see you Embrace rhyme. I really enjoyed this poem. I haven't read a lot of your poems recently, so it was a pleasant surprise to come upon this one. I do love your free verse, and it's not that I prefer this, but I do love to see you stretch your wings, and I do believe you have a talent for rhyme. 😎

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