Monday, October 5, 2009

Childhood

I'm taking a liberty with this post--I'm sharing something that isn't mine, and I hope that the person it belongs to won't mind. I'll keep it anonymous, at least. I am in an on-going on-line poetry discussion with a friend. I should also mention I had been nagging him about the importance of expressing feelings, which he said he does best through poetry. He wrote:

"The construction of this poem is a bit on the experimental side, but it seems the best answer I could come up with. Also, you seem to like to share facts about your childhood, so I thought I would too (I mean this sentence to be interpreted as it was constructed. In other words, there is no syntactical mistake)." Now the poem:

I used to like
to get up early
like little
children do
for life is
fresh
for the young
when I was
young no
more than eight.

Mom would
be up too
just as early.

We lived in
rental homes
while Dad
built houses
we would live in
for a while
then sell.

Escrow meant
change.

It rained
rained almost
every day then
but we would
explore
badger holes
in the soft
dirt
and find
awe in
the deepest
ponds.

Do you know
what
lives in the
forest by
my house?

Is it not beautiful? The dull ache is exquisite. My response:

"If writing poetry allows you to be in touch with your emotions, it is a good exercise for you. Reading your poetry, I can tell you feel something when you write, but I don't necessarily know what you're feeling because my experiences and emotions color my interpretation. So to me, this poem is melancholy. It conveys a dull pain, the general dreariness of constant rain, perhaps because something is missing. The pain might be worse if not for the active distraction of exploring badger holes and the awe found in the deepest ponds, but even these just ease the pain rather than bring happiness. But these are my feelings; I still don't know what your feelings are or to what degree they are like mine. Still, I think it is good that you write poetry, and I like to read it. Besides, you don't have to tell me your feelings, as I have no claim on them. It is presumptuous of me to ask your feelings because it assumes that you feel close enough to me or will choose to be close enough to me to share your feelings.

"I talk about my childhood a lot because it is my mental short-circuit. The past several years, I have been consumed in an effort to come to grips with the events of my childhood (almost all my memories are traumatic or leave a bitter taste, at the least) and figure out what my past means for my future. I want to raise children who are better than I--happier, emotionally and physically healthier--so I think a lot about what has been good and bad for me. I think that's normal. I also want to know how experiences similar to mine affect people with personalities different from my own and how different experiences shape people with similar personalities to mine. So I like to hear about other people's childhoods and families. Thanks for sharing."

I just felt like this needed to go on the blog. Is it strange that I feel inspired to write things on my blog?--not just creatively inspired but spiritually inspired sometimes.

And, for the Newt, I have to add: "What badgers?" Do you remember that? Sorry. Seven-year-old inside joke.

Current songs: Today is all about Radiohead's melancholy moaning.

3 comments:

Newt said...

Hahaha... I vaguely remember that. Did we write it on pieces of paper and randomly stick it into people's lockers?

p.s. my word verification is "nephi."

Newt said...

p.s. I meant to say this but got distracted by "What badgers?" I love the imagery of the poem.

Sad for a While said...

Isn't it lovely? And, yes, we did write it on papers and stick them in random lockers...in the social studies hallway where the freshman had their lockers, if I remember correctly.