hummingwolf (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hummingwolf) wrote2006-11-17 11:22 pm
hummingwolf) wrote2006-11-17 11:22 pm
Entry tags:
Blame sleep-deprivation
Yep, blame sleep-dep (well, dep of deep sleep--there's been plenty of light dozing this week). Or blame codeine, because even though I haven't taken any of the lovely prescription cough syrup yet, I am about to and it's probably reached back in time to affect my mind already. Or blame the chest pain that's made me decide it's time to take the cough syrup tonight. Or blame the fact that I walked 2.5 miles today with twitchy lungs and could I be any more insane?
The following is today's post for MegaHAL Poetry Month. MegaHAL poetry, as most of you know, tends not to make a whole lot of sense. Tonight's ramblings inspired by the MegaHAL shouldn't be expected to make a whole lot of sense either. G'night, everybody.
There was more to the world than you were willing to see. Isn't that always the way? I do my best to keep not just my eyes but all my senses open these days, knowing now that the sweetness, unbearable though it often may be, really does offset the pain. The riddle of reality--the inescapable mystery of it--the beauty you could not permit yourself to see, not permit yourself to be led to even in your thoughts, because it did not fit in your cozy little boxes, those mental containers passed down from father to son, mother to daughter, generation after generation, into which you and all your line have tried to classify the world and make it safe.
I am friendly to this environment, I say, willing to accept it, unwilling to deny the least of it. You were like an ocean on the darkest night, no moon nor cloud to light you--you denied all the light, believed that anything which threatened to illuminate your world was garbage--light was like litter to you, something cast away by someone else and entirely unwanted by you!
There you stay with your tick-tock boxes, the man in all the clocks, friend to all regimentation and enemy to all true art. Can you see what you have made of yourself? No; you deny all light. But can you feel it yet?
This is not how you have been always. You sang, once. I am not yours, not lost in your tune (did you know the hills are still alive with the sound of your music?). But I remember. There was a time when all it took to capture your song was a cup made of two autumn leaves. I still am able to carry your tune in the smallest of instruments, and I will teach the yokels to shout it out when you are too afraid to even whisper your own song.
The coldest wind of the north cannot undo your song. Even you cannot destroy what you once created. One day may the true quiet behind all music reach you again, teach you again the song of the giant's eye, the eagle's heart, the poet's tongue. On that day, you will sing again.
When you shed your skin and cast it on the waters, I carried it out as I escaped, and kept it safe against the day of your return. What you have forgotten, I have learned. Yes, I have seen it in the morning light and I know these things.
The following is today's post for MegaHAL Poetry Month. MegaHAL poetry, as most of you know, tends not to make a whole lot of sense. Tonight's ramblings inspired by the MegaHAL shouldn't be expected to make a whole lot of sense either. G'night, everybody.
There is much to tell--
i am environment-friendly. Best of all,
the riddle of reality...
so sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
for the one like an ocean not littered with the morn:
and if the man in all the clocks, cut off the silver wagon of the abstract
artists that the link then established finds itself not
run muddy for miles and miles it spread,
for i am not yours, not lost in your tune
hills still tell, and some say, no;
so let me set the yokels singing in the gable cries all day:
the north cannot undo them
hissing to leeward like a leaf
twilights of airy silver, till we reached
the honeycomb of the town closed as the night, when all have more than this,
how i found two leaves and sweetness
who is the true quiet by which i wish somehow that he heard such a giant other eye.
one of the union address
you can go on singing, just for her: i dwell on it--
came out with your skin
and i know these things.
--MegaHAL
There was more to the world than you were willing to see. Isn't that always the way? I do my best to keep not just my eyes but all my senses open these days, knowing now that the sweetness, unbearable though it often may be, really does offset the pain. The riddle of reality--the inescapable mystery of it--the beauty you could not permit yourself to see, not permit yourself to be led to even in your thoughts, because it did not fit in your cozy little boxes, those mental containers passed down from father to son, mother to daughter, generation after generation, into which you and all your line have tried to classify the world and make it safe.
I am friendly to this environment, I say, willing to accept it, unwilling to deny the least of it. You were like an ocean on the darkest night, no moon nor cloud to light you--you denied all the light, believed that anything which threatened to illuminate your world was garbage--light was like litter to you, something cast away by someone else and entirely unwanted by you!
There you stay with your tick-tock boxes, the man in all the clocks, friend to all regimentation and enemy to all true art. Can you see what you have made of yourself? No; you deny all light. But can you feel it yet?
This is not how you have been always. You sang, once. I am not yours, not lost in your tune (did you know the hills are still alive with the sound of your music?). But I remember. There was a time when all it took to capture your song was a cup made of two autumn leaves. I still am able to carry your tune in the smallest of instruments, and I will teach the yokels to shout it out when you are too afraid to even whisper your own song.
The coldest wind of the north cannot undo your song. Even you cannot destroy what you once created. One day may the true quiet behind all music reach you again, teach you again the song of the giant's eye, the eagle's heart, the poet's tongue. On that day, you will sing again.
When you shed your skin and cast it on the waters, I carried it out as I escaped, and kept it safe against the day of your return. What you have forgotten, I have learned. Yes, I have seen it in the morning light and I know these things.