"Think about philosophy" | 5
"I'd like to work with you" he said this sweetly
"I don't say that to everyone" he added
I realized now he trusted me completely
his every word rang true not one were padded
"I'd recommend perhaps" he said this slowly
"you think about philosophy a while"
a stillness filled the atmosphere I lowly
observed the sunset neither of us smiled
"the sunset makes me want to weep" I stammered
"I feel the same" he said this soft & mournfully
"I spend my days confused! I'm like one hammered
relentlessly by life!" he frowned half-scornfully
"you poets have your troubles just for this
you long for what is not and lose what is"
Back to FLAME & ASH.
"I don't say that to everyone" he added
I realized now he trusted me completely
his every word rang true not one were padded
"I'd recommend perhaps" he said this slowly
"you think about philosophy a while"
a stillness filled the atmosphere I lowly
observed the sunset neither of us smiled
"the sunset makes me want to weep" I stammered
"I feel the same" he said this soft & mournfully
"I spend my days confused! I'm like one hammered
relentlessly by life!" he frowned half-scornfully
"you poets have your troubles just for this
you long for what is not and lose what is"
Back to FLAME & ASH.
posted by david raphael israel at 7:33 PM
2 Comments:
"his every word rang true not one were padded"
'every' seems a bit contived and 'were' here? Perhaps misplaced!?
dear Shankari--
thanks for giving this Novella a look, and for offering your thoughts. Speaking in general, it's always good to know the thoughts of readers.
This does not mean one must agree with every thought expressed. In this case, I would vigorously defend the use of "every." It is, in my view, not the least bit contrived. Or that is, the thought of the word "every" is not more contrived (nor differently contrived) than is the underlying premise of the poem and the Novella per se. If the underlying premise is taken seriously, then so, too, must the word "every" here. The underlying idea is perhaps "contrived" in the sense that it is an audacious idea. It is an audiacious idea which the poem takes seriously. As such, the poem naturally, seriously, and without any sense of uncertainty resorts to so extreme and definite a word as "every" here.
This word-choice lies indeed very close to the heart of the poem and its ideas. I am dealing here with the Sonnet itself -- an archetypal figure, an embodiment essentially of a divine idea, or at least a serious inward force in the realm of literature.
If every word of his did not ring true, he would not be who he is. It is absolutely crucial that what this sentence proposes, would indeed be so. It's not a question of my making some outlandish claim for my little poem. If that's the reading you apply to it, kindly try (as a thought-exercise) to think of it in a different way.
Suppose, as an example, that you were dealing with an imagined meetig with the personification of Wind. If this were truly Wind whom one were meeting, you would expect him to have a complete mastery of every nuance of what it means to be Wind. He would know every possible wind, every aspect of how the winds move and work, every detail of every wind everywhere! If there were any wind in the world -- existing in the past, the present or the future -- that he did not know personally, whose activities he could not explain in detail, and whose nature and every expression -- down to the last little leaf casually jostled on the edge of that twig (but equally concerning tsunamis, gales, monsoons, and every other activity of wind), then he would be merely an imposter, he would not be Wind, I would be speaking to the wrong person, and the conversation would not exist.
This poem, similarly, posits a meeting and exchange with the Sonnet per se. Not some nice guy who knows sonnets, not even some skillful writer of sonnets. No. I am engaged (in this poem's imagination) in a relationship with the Sonnet as a perfected form, as an ideal form, and as a kind of perfection that stands behind (and in many respects above) any particular embodiment he might inspire in the manifest world. (In a sense, this poem perhaps implies the existence of a "perfection of speech" as a potential human trait. This is a topic I have not very much thought about. I was, here, simply enjoying an imagination of the Sonnet as an interesting and colorful character. But in a way, he is himself simply an embodiment of a deeper level of idea, involving the perfection of speech. But that takes us away from the more simple ideas at play in this Novella.)
Suffice to say, I should be pleased to propose that the word "every" is so necessary to the thought of this line, and poem, and Novella, that to think it misplaced is, I'm afraid, simply to misunderstand the poem.
You are right that the implications of this word "every" might seem rather extreme or exaggerated. And perhaps that's the simple gist of your remark: that it seems an exaggeration. That's true! I think you're right about that! And that's because the premise underlying the poem, and the Novella, are themselves strong, forceful, and in some respects possibly quite preposterous ideas. (They are ideas that can seem an exaggeration, when pondered in the context of normal, run-of-the-mill premises, assumptions, and beliefs that we are often used to and comfortable with in our daily lives.)
So I rather think the problem you express, dear, then, is not strictly (or merely) with the word every in this line. I think perhaps it's with the notion that I could be engaged in a conversation with the Sonnet.
For if allowing I am talking to the Sonnet himself, you had better believe I might notice (as a thoughtful poet listening to what he says & how he says it, and how I feel when I hear his words) that, remarkably, his every single word rings 100% true. Not 95%, not 98.6%, not 99.95%. 100% always. He represents the perfection of his idea. (It is the concept of perfection that, I suppose, your remark may unconsciously be having a problem with.) If such a figure may be said to exist: the very perfection of a literary form -- a form that, surely, in all of its human instances, strives for perfection, for a condition of not placing a single wrong wrongly -- then, at least conceived as an ideal (though in this poem, in fact not merely conceived as an ideal, rather, conceived as a living, breathing presence), he should indeed embody the perfection of speech -- particularly so whenever he is speaking! So yes, in short, it would appear to be crucial that not one of
his words were [i.e., would be] false, nor unnecessary, nor mere fill or frill. (And by the way, this last sentence of mine could serve as an attempt at explaining the grammar of the word "were" in the poem's same line.)
With cordial thanks for your thought-provoking remark! -- and, too, in advance, for considering my sincere reply,
d.i.
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