Over time
ideas, views, opinions form
clutter
creating distance
separation
in relationships
as if
the more you know
about me
the less you know
me
Invisible
these concepts
these ideas of you
and me
but I smile
at how heavy
weights
these thoughts
accumulated
stored
layered
a film
on the glass
looking in
distorting
the light of us
So tell me
what do you see
what do you know
do you know me
or
do you know your idea
of me
and can you tell the difference?
13 comments:
LMAO, my writing production is staring to outpace my image production. Don't expect this to keep up. ;-)
Good question at the end... I wonder if anyone can really know someone - or only their idea of them... Perspective and history influence so much.
Annie, I think we all trade in our images of each other, which is okay, as long as we know the difference between the thing and the idea of the thing. It is when we confused the two that we get into trouble. And I've had my fair share. :-D
I suppose I could add:
and if you love me, is it me, or is it your idea of me; somehow, the thought that what is loved is the idea and not me, leaves me cold and lonely, on the outside looking in as the delusion baffles me and I feel I have no voice to those who have no ears.
Then again, the battle is as much with our own ideas of ourselves. Living in a house of mirrors.
First part as expressed is a thought often thought (to read such a concise verbalization was engrossing on several levels), yet the idea in itself is somewhat of a contradiction, the clearest conclusion seems to be the mind that has procured a firm belief moves no longer instead hanging its hat on the hook of fact and setting up home with all the accompanying comforts. Astoundingly well-expressed is this entire piece, I know it may sound as if I often say the exact same words, and perhaps I do I would not be surprised to learn this was the case, but the experience, the poem (or post) in question, being read, being commented upon, ever vastly different from the one that came before, the intensity of pleasure, of enjoyment, of admiration is comparable and it is for this reason that almost whenever I want to liken it to something fireworks is almost always immediately comes to mind, image and title lighting the fuse and every line erupting in glorious technicolour across the receiving mind and heart, mesmerizing, inspiring such awe and wonder, all one can do is watch in complete fascination at the kaleidoscopic, moving, changing, display.
the more you know
about me
the less you know
me
Take a deep breath, calm the wow. This is a classic example of several of the aspects within your writing that are both consistent and consistently praiseworthy, you seem to strip away everything that has no place, when you touch upon an idea in your writing, ride an emotion, explore a thought, seek to share a belief, well, since it seems the simplest way to explain I think of something Von wrote once, in a journal entry, about swimming naked, your observations and your ability to define them bespeaks not just a heightened sense of perception but an unswerving focus, clarity of eye and of mind. Thought-provoking. To answer the question if that were it a requirement would take some exploration, a series of observations, some contradictory, like for example I wonder if not often we make a point of reflecting only what is revealed directly and only what is being looked for, and that there are a lot of silent observations that remain silent for one reason or another, in other words, confusingly, infuriatingly and stupidly, correct or incorrect though these may be left aside for the moment, understanding reached is at times purposely buried, and as such, not always, but sometimes we may know a person better than will be revealed. In those cases, many times, it in my own observations is the things that the person in question either doesn't seem to realize about themselves or that they actively try to submerge. A thousand windows opening here and the above is a mere quick glance through one...I don't know how well we can know another, I only know how incredibly far off the mark people can sometimes be, how great the difference can be between real and imagined, but I do believe strongly that we are quite capable of seeing the essence of someone, and if we can see that, clearly, then we know what truly matters and the rest is flowers grown froma soil that has been touched.
I have a great, great urge to read some poetry text books, to learn more in order to comment better, but what I do know is this, poetry is what you write, poetry of great quality and elegance and skill, and I know this by the reactions that you evoke, by the beauty that is perceived, by the melodies heard and the worlds that you open. Hearts and minds you expand with the written word, this is the kind of writing that last forever, not always by memory in the singular example, but imprint there was. Love this post so very much.
Sweetest, this is a poem written quickly with no editing or reviewing, so don't be surprised to see this one redone or a second edition or just another version since I've learned the hard way that sometimes people prefer the first draft to the second. :-D
This poem is perhaps not what it appears to be, at least in origin. In the last twenty-four hours I've started to make peace with the fact that my eight year career and all those relationships are probably coming to an abrupt end sometime next week, and, like most endings, I've been resisting the idea. But as I've started to look toward the next horizon, the thought occurred, which is not too unlike moving, of a fresh start and of what I would be leaving behind--namely, all the the accumulated ideas and views and opinions of me that people have formed over the last eight years--both good and bad and both equally in the camp of idea as much as reality. Of course, this brings forth a whole lot of other questions that I'm too tired to explore right now, but suffice it to say, that fleeting thought this morning, of taking off the cloak of the last many years and walking forth naked, lighter, breathing freely, well, from that vantage, this was written. :-D
Your kind words, as always, simply a delight. Thank you. :-)
Thank you for the background, which has given an even greater appreciation of this piece of writing, where appreciation was already sky high and expanding all the while. A lot of thoughts lumbering from corner to corner on a subject that is often pondered and which through your poem are keeping me awake tonight. The question for example of how much responsibility we should take when a misinterpretation continues to be cemented, at times, in some situations, for one reason or another, it is not uncommon I do not think to act in accordance, or rather to simply cast aside the idea of clarifying the view held. The most interesting are the ones that repeat, that make one wonder what action or expression it that time and again leads another to the same, misconstrued conclusion, for it is one thing to be ourselves and to be misunderstood in a variety of ways, that one could suppose is caused by the filters of another, but to be misunderstood in the same way means consistently sending out the wrong vibes so to speak. I should never start rattling at this hour, and especially without beginning properly let alone finishing, but the reason for beginning this second comment was to say, as said above, that your comment about the inspiration behind this poem has further enriched it. Fascinated by the simplicity, the beauty, the style and the subject. New comment, same conclusion, loved this.
Good to hear some of those other statements.
Good evening to you, x
Well, as all my poems, and virtually all of the chapters in the story, they start with a singular idea, very basic. From that idea, the poem or chapter is started with no idea of how it will progress or end. The idea, as I expressed above, was more feeling than thought. There was a feeling of lightness, a feeling of leaving the dross of the last eight years (actually, the last four in particular) behind. The feeling was one of taking a heavy cloak off as I was coming inside from a terrible winter storm and as the cloak came off, inside the warm house, fire burning, there was that sigh, that lightness of shoulder. That feeling, that mental imagine, was the spark. And the rest, as I say, flowed from there. :-D
overtime...one knows that ultimaely one does not even know oneself, let alone another...
maybe it is because we are all constantly changing...
tree I am in LA California, my brother in law is in ICU fighting for his life. Please pray for him
Mona, he has my thoughts and prayers; as do you.
Adding mine, Mona, thoughts and prayers, xo
wow. that was an awesome poem my friend.
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