Making sense of things and then strongly putting them together. Seems to me that’s a definition of a poet and a carpenter. Great essay about snow globes. 😉
Do you know Monica that that never occurred to me? When you start out a house in the dirt, it's just a blank canvas, utter chaos really, with excavators digging while you're trying to get the depth right and make sure it's square before the concrete gets there. I have written about 7 essays on the topic of construction and the world I worked in. They are on my Substack thing if that interests you. Thanks for reading. Wes
That was fascinating read, Wes, thanks. I started thinking, when you wrote about poetry being a "compulsion" rather than a "passion", about how different social classes think about themselves and take ownership of certain aspects of human expression like literature (what ever that is) and poetry.
There is less space available for some people to claim the rights to being a poet (or a writer or an actor or you know) than other people. It's revealing how much of that space is policed by we ourselves too.
Anyway, loved the bit about your parents not talking about sailing, just getting on with it instead. I hear A LOT of talk from people in general and not much actual doing, as if just saying something got it done, so I really enjoyed the idea of these stoical (no-nonsense maybe?) people just getting on with things for the sake of it. But not with less pleasure or depth or expertise or joy. Just less blabbering. That was lovely, and as you say I felt the "symptom" of admiration and calmness from the idea. (Maybe I should just shut up here ;)
My parents were unusual people. They eloped and there are zero photos of the wedding. He was a handler and recruiter of spies for 32 years. She was an artist, first and foremost. They didn't like having their photo taken, part of that extreme secrecy of his work and she was just plain introvert. They did not celebrate their birthdays but they did ours. If you gave them a gift at Christmas and they didn't want it, they would hand it back to you. When they were visiting and they wanted to go, they stood up, said goodby and walked out the door. They were gone in about one minute flat. They were intellectuals but were not overly interested in philosophy or any kind of idle speculation. The both worked hard, played hard and napped every day. They were wonderful parents. Thanks for reading and commenting Jonathan. Wes
Wrote a long comment earlier and if ever I learn if and how to save drafts here, well (blithering again)
It’s a wonderful essay, not anything I thought creating a poem would involve. I’ve scribbled down lines I think of spontaneously (I think)- but I do not construct. Why pieces of the backs of envelopes are stuck in corners of my desk. But you go about structuring a poem with the meticulous focus and finesse I see in all your writing, the same as you must use constructing a house. - sketching it, finding where to place it, setting it up beautifully, with clean corners, well measured boards, windows for looking out - and in -carefully- and within it the family, the meaning you occupy it with. In awe.
I think you've summed it up pretty well and thanks for that. There is something else that occurs for those of us who depend on the poem to sort things out. I put it down and then leave it alone for a while. When I return to it I read it quite quickly to see if it can handle the speed, make sure it can take the corners without anything ripping off. I read them for pure sense, to see if the internal logic is sound and consistent or if the lunacy is held at the proper pitch. It goes on and on but it all reminds me of sanding something down, and how you go from 40 grit paper, to 80 then 100 and all the way to 220 for the polish. It seems there's no end to where things can go. Wes
Much of the Bible is poetry, especially the prophetic books that are of harder concepts to bare. (Probably why the Church does not teach from them) All have been written under the firmament of the Snow Globe matrix we live in. A quantum of dimensions between heaven and hell.
As an example: the “tent” is both the Church (Tabernacle Wilderness) and the female human body here as they will produce offspring to occupy the desolate cities and dispossses them of devils and demons. Being of good courage because the know God Almighty is their husband with the Church being known as the Bride of Christ.
““Shout for joy, O barren woman, who bears no children; break forth in song and cry aloud, you who have never travailed; because more are the children of the desolate woman than of her who has a husband,” says the Lord. “Enlarge the site of your tent, stretch out the curtains of your dwellings, do not hold back. Lengthen your ropes and drive your stakes in deep. For you will spread out to the right and left; your descendants will dispossess the nations and inhabit the desolate cities. Do not be afraid, for you will not be put to shame; do not be intimidated, for you will not be humiliated. For you will forget the shame of your youth and will remember no more the reproach of your widowhood. For your husband is your Maker— the Lord of Hosts is His name— the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer; He is called the God of all the earth.”
Note: Has this prophecy not come to Pass? Do we not see more children being conceived, birthed and or raised out of wedlock? Both of the desolate and the Bride?
Making sense of things and then strongly putting them together. Seems to me that’s a definition of a poet and a carpenter. Great essay about snow globes. 😉
Do you know Monica that that never occurred to me? When you start out a house in the dirt, it's just a blank canvas, utter chaos really, with excavators digging while you're trying to get the depth right and make sure it's square before the concrete gets there. I have written about 7 essays on the topic of construction and the world I worked in. They are on my Substack thing if that interests you. Thanks for reading. Wes
That was fascinating read, Wes, thanks. I started thinking, when you wrote about poetry being a "compulsion" rather than a "passion", about how different social classes think about themselves and take ownership of certain aspects of human expression like literature (what ever that is) and poetry.
There is less space available for some people to claim the rights to being a poet (or a writer or an actor or you know) than other people. It's revealing how much of that space is policed by we ourselves too.
Anyway, loved the bit about your parents not talking about sailing, just getting on with it instead. I hear A LOT of talk from people in general and not much actual doing, as if just saying something got it done, so I really enjoyed the idea of these stoical (no-nonsense maybe?) people just getting on with things for the sake of it. But not with less pleasure or depth or expertise or joy. Just less blabbering. That was lovely, and as you say I felt the "symptom" of admiration and calmness from the idea. (Maybe I should just shut up here ;)
My parents were unusual people. They eloped and there are zero photos of the wedding. He was a handler and recruiter of spies for 32 years. She was an artist, first and foremost. They didn't like having their photo taken, part of that extreme secrecy of his work and she was just plain introvert. They did not celebrate their birthdays but they did ours. If you gave them a gift at Christmas and they didn't want it, they would hand it back to you. When they were visiting and they wanted to go, they stood up, said goodby and walked out the door. They were gone in about one minute flat. They were intellectuals but were not overly interested in philosophy or any kind of idle speculation. The both worked hard, played hard and napped every day. They were wonderful parents. Thanks for reading and commenting Jonathan. Wes
Wrote a long comment earlier and if ever I learn if and how to save drafts here, well (blithering again)
It’s a wonderful essay, not anything I thought creating a poem would involve. I’ve scribbled down lines I think of spontaneously (I think)- but I do not construct. Why pieces of the backs of envelopes are stuck in corners of my desk. But you go about structuring a poem with the meticulous focus and finesse I see in all your writing, the same as you must use constructing a house. - sketching it, finding where to place it, setting it up beautifully, with clean corners, well measured boards, windows for looking out - and in -carefully- and within it the family, the meaning you occupy it with. In awe.
I think you've summed it up pretty well and thanks for that. There is something else that occurs for those of us who depend on the poem to sort things out. I put it down and then leave it alone for a while. When I return to it I read it quite quickly to see if it can handle the speed, make sure it can take the corners without anything ripping off. I read them for pure sense, to see if the internal logic is sound and consistent or if the lunacy is held at the proper pitch. It goes on and on but it all reminds me of sanding something down, and how you go from 40 grit paper, to 80 then 100 and all the way to 220 for the polish. It seems there's no end to where things can go. Wes
I love these essays!
Thank you Brian.
Wonderful story about the evolution of a poet!
The evolution of a reluctant poet too.
Much of the Bible is poetry, especially the prophetic books that are of harder concepts to bare. (Probably why the Church does not teach from them) All have been written under the firmament of the Snow Globe matrix we live in. A quantum of dimensions between heaven and hell.
As an example: the “tent” is both the Church (Tabernacle Wilderness) and the female human body here as they will produce offspring to occupy the desolate cities and dispossses them of devils and demons. Being of good courage because the know God Almighty is their husband with the Church being known as the Bride of Christ.
““Shout for joy, O barren woman, who bears no children; break forth in song and cry aloud, you who have never travailed; because more are the children of the desolate woman than of her who has a husband,” says the Lord. “Enlarge the site of your tent, stretch out the curtains of your dwellings, do not hold back. Lengthen your ropes and drive your stakes in deep. For you will spread out to the right and left; your descendants will dispossess the nations and inhabit the desolate cities. Do not be afraid, for you will not be put to shame; do not be intimidated, for you will not be humiliated. For you will forget the shame of your youth and will remember no more the reproach of your widowhood. For your husband is your Maker— the Lord of Hosts is His name— the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer; He is called the God of all the earth.”
Isaiah 54:1-5 BSB
https://bible.com/bible/3034/isa.54.1-5.BSB
Note: Has this prophecy not come to Pass? Do we not see more children being conceived, birthed and or raised out of wedlock? Both of the desolate and the Bride?
Let's pretend I meant it...😉