(7/28/2005 8:02:00 AM)
Its a breadth of fresh air to see that some people are really engaging themselves poetically.
Personally: I never knew i wanted to write, it's something that just kinda grew in me, and boy am i smitten or what!
But word is, i'm an emotional writer. i write from the heart. I', driven by emotions that run deep within me.
I'm inspired by feminine energies, by love, by flowers, by individualism, beauty...
Hell i'm just inspired.
I think i got poetry in my blood...fuuny thing is i never perfom my writtings.
why? i'm still placking the courage to go forth and grace people: -)
However, i just need tips on how to broaden my perspective.
i can always share my views-i just need to be enlightened in other things...
Guess we live to be inspired by all that is...creation!
(7/23/2005 11:15:00 AM)
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A FRESH GRACE
Most writers, according to Doris Lessing, are mildly depressed. When asked what her most joyous moments were she said “at the beginning of each book.”1 I agree that a certain melancholia, a certain pensiveness, a certain level of emotion recollected in tranquillity, are present during the writing process. But there is also: intensity, pleasure, a celebratory joy, on rare occasions tears born in a commingling of sadness and joy, a solemn consciousness, a thankful gladness. I know what depression is like from years of suffering from a bi-polar disorder. I know all the gradations of depression from the death wish with blackness to the death wish in a quiet grey, to the mild depression that Lessing tells of. I know despair, a frenetic hypomania, immobilizing fear, mental chaos and, when I write, none of this is present. There is a culture of feeling which I am in quest of and which I find before I write or during the writing process. There is a freshness of the emotions, a connecting of this freshness with life, with my own heart and with the world around me. It does not always occur with the same degree of intensity, but it must occur to some extent, or writing for me is impossible. When I try, without these oils present, it is like dry, thin, black, soil out in the hot sun: no life, no vitality, no freshness, no heart, a meagre mind.
-Ron Price with thanks to Doris Lessing, “Books and Writing”, ABC Radio National,16 January 2000; for his Pioneering Over Three Epochs, Unpublished Manuscript,2000.
No, Doris, ‘mildly depressed’
does not really describe it for me.
There’s a fusion of life and death
instincts, now, after dieing so many
times in this life and praying for
friends and loved ones in the
kingdom of immortality over so
many years. This is at the heart
of my creativity and Eros, too,
with its culture-building capacities,
its attraction passionee,1 its flowing
in love, friendship and sociability,
making reason more sensuous and
happiness a bi-product of a fresh
grace infusing the power of thought.
This, Doris, comes a little closer
to telling how I tell it, what goes
on in my inner life where these
new and wonderful configurations
seem cast upon the mirror of creation.2
17 January 2000
1 For a discussion of the interrelationship between the life and death wish, instinct, I draw on Anthony Giddens, The Transformation of Intimacy: Sexuality, Love and Eroticism in Modern Societies, Polity Press, Cambridge,1993, Chapter 9.
2 ‘Abdu’l-Baha, Secret of Divine Civilization, Wilmette,1971, p.1.
A GENUINE ACTIVITY
Henry Miller said that in his old age the telephone and the doorbell were his phobias. D.H. Lawrence used to hide in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Miller used to say “Tell them I’m not home.” I don’t feel quite as strongly as that all the time; phobia is a bit strong, but certainly the tendency is there to avoid social contact through these means. The need for strong friendships which I once had, even into my forties, has gone. I need some social contact, but not much. My big desire is to be at it constantly, at writing that is, every day. The thinking process is a drawing together, a drawing out. It’s right there at my finger tips, meshed in the print I am reading, the experiences I am having and the imagination that comes my way. It comes tingling off my fingers onto the page. When I get too tired I stop. Overall, the process seems continually going on day after day in the context of my roles, my needs, my desires and what I am. I don’t seem to be very good at doing things other than writing. And my story is, like all stories, unique, a form of genuine activity not just busybody work. What I write is an account of my acceptance, my acquiescence, my own self and my many obsessive themes. The joy, or what approaches joy, is in the act of writing, the accomplishment, not the product which often never gets read again.
-Ron Price with thanks to Henry Miller, My Life and Times, Playboy Press, pp.1-39.
The stream stays alive and flowing,
sometimes useless and contradictory,
but its the water in the river1
going to the sea, up into the bays,
the coves and inlets; it fills the great
estuary of my life, rising and falling
with the tides, between the green
tree-laden shores where the mountains
fill the eye in the distance,
again and again, day after day.
It comes back to be rediscovered,
relived again with the magic of words,
coming out of me right up from the sea.
1 The Tamar River here is also called an estuary.
11 August 2000Replies for this message:
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(7/20/2005 12:14:00 AM)
Hey, anyone who reads my poems and feel like they can kinda relate to them, I'd be glad to help you get through your rough times. I wrote these to vent my anger/depression left over from Jr High, so I am over my 'suicidal thoughts' for the most part, maybe I can help you with yours.
(7/15/2005 1:35:00 PM)
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I only hope that something I write connects somewhere along the way..that it touches someone and speaks to them in a small voice. I believe I have so much to say but somewhere between the mind and the parchment the connection is lost in my own translation from feelings to the written word. I don't know.... Poetry has touched me and is teaching me to let loose, to be free and to share of myself..parts that are usually tucked deep inside, in my secret place..hidden in my heart's heart, where no one can touch them...the place where I am safest.. the place that longs for freedom.. In poetry, I have found a place to fly high.Replies for this message:
(1/27/2007 12:48:00 AM)
I agree with you 100%
(7/21/2005 4:48:00 PM)
Poetry is what makes us human.....It is the oldest known written communication. It separates us from the beasts, and gives us a unique place in the universe to call our own.
(7/15/2005 4:30:00 PM)
I think you approach poetry in a much similar way that I do and I have read some of your poems-I believe they are quite moving! Just wanted to let you know that your poetry is, in fact, 'connecting so ... more
(7/15/2005 4:27:00 PM)
Sherry, I know what you mean about havin ... more
- Aldo Kraas (1/27/2007 12:48:00 AM) Post reply
(7/14/2005 9:45:00 PM)
Hello, I am new to this site, and I just posted many of my poems here. I would appreciate feedback on them, and constructive criticism. Thank you so much :)
(7/5/2005 7:06:00 PM)
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oh so deep within my chest
lightning flashes 'fore my eyes
brightness at its best
my tired road is getting wet
raindrops sooth my mind
stormclouds clearly do not know
the right ways to unwind
mist on roses clear my thoughts
brings them to the sky
darkened shapes; clearly growing
birds may wish to say good bye
humid air is unforgiving
trees all bend to their expense
then they stop, in leafy splendor
will this thunderstorm dispense
i dont know what to call this piece. please tell me how you think i could improve the wording, if you can.Replies for this message:
(10/9/2005 5:33:00 AM)
Advise? Punctuate. Depersonalise - too many 'I's and 'My's tell me what a clever girl you think you are. but don't let me discourage you. Your early effort is very promising and 'Who never made a mist ... more
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- Tony Jennett (10/9/2005 5:33:00 AM) Post reply
(6/28/2005 9:21:00 PM)
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Heart feels the grief -[br]
Eye Tears for relief --[br]
Mind thinks for decision -[br]
After having some mischief -[br]
How to complete this poem? and what should be the title? Please respond as soon as possible.
(6/27/2005 4:12:00 PM)
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I have submitted some of my poems today. I am not sure whether my poems deserver to be here. But then, i feel elated when i read them myself. Maybe, someone would enjoy it at least, if not appreciate it. I am writing poems in my second language and i have not done intense studies in the language either.
(6/27/2005 10:37:00 AM)
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To improve your poetry writing you must read, read, read and read the really good poetry by the top poets: Ted Hughes, Seamus Heaney, Dylan Thomas, R S Thomas etc. or in America and other lands many others. And then you must stand on their shoulders, take a deep breath and go for it. But you must never quit with the reading. Probably you should read 20 great poems for every moderate one you wish to write. There are no short cuts! And there are no excuses! There are some great poems and poets on this very site. What are you waiting for? Oh a final thought, if you read rubbish you'll write rubbish. Read the best you can find. Expand your vocabulary. Here endeth the first lesson!
(6/26/2005 11:40:00 AM)
New to this site and I've read a few poems, some just were plain sick but funny! Some were amazing and I'm going to start writing my own poems onto here when I get the guts to face your cruel judgement! HAHA! Nah been told I was pretty good but that dosent matter till you all vote, leave comments on my poetry too if you please. Thanks.