Monday, March 3, 2008


he didn’t understand who he was
or what he was doing
but pretended he did

to make it easier
on himself and others.

he hoped that the pen would fertilise the desert

bring blooms from the void
and it did

but only to himself

only in his mind.

6 comments:

Selena Dreamy said...

Whether it is with joy or sadness, according to the moment, or with hope and infinite longing, we must always assume, alone, the moral and literary responsibility for all that we’ve thought and written...

Dreamy

Jonathan said...

Indeed I agree with you, but had I said anything else? Or was this what you thought I meant in these lines?

Selena Dreamy said...

and it did

but only to himself
only in his mind.



Well, that's what summed it up for me...

D.

Jonathan said...

passwordOh I see. I think you're saying that our words always reach out into the outside world even if we think they don't...? And that because of this we are wrong to think they don't have an effect..?

I suppose this is true, but then one might be overexaggerating ones importance, or the sense in which people take notice at all...?

One perhaps shouldn't comment on ones own poems but I think Im exploring the solipsistic-vanity dilemma; in which a sense of meaning and potency and substance, which one might feel in contact with in ones own mind, especially in ones own writings, somehow cannot be, or at least isn't, transmitted or shared with others.

It is also perhaps about the 'failure of giving'..not in the sense that one hasn't opted to give, or tried, but that the gift hasn't worked, hasn't connected, hasn't arrived.

Or something like that. In anycase it wasn't about the intention of only thinking or writing for oneself.

Hope your day is fine and less foggy than mine.

xx

Jonathan said...

How that intitial 'password' got in there I have no idea...

May said...

Perhaps your password is "password".