Peter
Lv 5
Peter asked in Arts & HumanitiesPoetry · 7 years ago

Does my "disability" make me more or less of a poet? c/c?

If I could with a word well-chosen tell

You of the mysteries I've come to know

In sweet-sad murmurs of the vesper bell,

My throttled tongue would then so overflow

With tales of timeless, incandescent glow

That streams from common places all have seen

(That mark and mock our outer life below),

Would be repealed, as if a stubborn screen

Had been dissolved; and all that lies between

The parclose paling of the piece-bright world

And what is masked -- the pure and ever green --

Would then pour forth, as through a thin wall thurled.

The truth I've glimpsed, and yet no words are found,

And so by failing silence am I bound.

This silence that's become my sole estate

Has come of late to blur what's real and dreamed;

I have been set adrift to navigate

On seas that are, and are not, what they seemed.

For I have seen the center -- still -- that's teemed

Beneath the veil that not one soul denies,

And by its sight am both damned and redeemed

In ways I could not hope to analyze,

But which have in a strange way made me wise,

Though by their awful loneliness I'm swept --

Their wisdom seems all language to despise;

So often in my longing have I wept.

These are the poles that I am drawn between,

And yet how could you know quite what I mean?

While walking once along a country lane

I spied a bucket, weather-worn and bare,

Which time and circumstance half-filled with rain.

And on its waters I became aware

Of a lone beetle's silent voyage there,

And in it, mirrored, life's experience;

And now I see such visions everywhere --

I've not dared glimpse the oaken bucket since.

I'm tortured and yet blessed by Providence;

It's come to shake my wakefulness with sights

That pierce me utterly and make no sense.

And what were once my pleasures and delights,

And were for my whole life the goal and sum,

Now exile me to lands where words can't come.

A golden sunset makes my words quite fail,

A crippled child and country road, the same;

In all I sense the same soul-making vale

And know its grandeur full, yet not its name.

And not once did I beckon it, it came

And poisoned me 'til I could speak no more.

Daylight's dull web and I are all the same --

The empty mask that hangs beside the door.

Have I been made the sole inheritor

Of things I feel, but never can explain?

Mere circumstance has scourged me to the core;

With folded hands I slowly go insane.

I've seen God's greatness, but it has been planned

That I not speak of what I understand.

Update:

Lewis, the poem is not about depression. But then, you never read it, so why should you know what it's about? And work on that spelling, son.

Update 2:

Day.vid, the point of this verse is to reframe the central dilemma of Hugo von Hofmannsthal's epistolary "Letter of Lord Chandos" in four Spenserian sonnet stanzas. Hofmannsthal's protagonist has come to understand the language of inanimate things, but finds he is unable to articulate it in any known human language. He listens to them, but he cannot tell their story. You see, the poet is exactly the person who has gained this wondrous capacity, and yet has not lost his ability to open that world to human readers. Apparently, I have not made that clear to you, but surely you've read the "Letter", non?

12 Answers

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  • Thomas
    Lv 7
    7 years ago
    Favorite Answer

    Peter

    First to answer your question> I would say the answer depends on ones heart, and whether one is disabled or not, it is ones heart that determines if they are more or less than a poet. I think anyone disabled can be more in tune to others that are disabled, but there are some nasty, angry disabled folks around here (come on, report my answer, but it's the truth) and there are nasty non-disabled people.

    ----------------------------

    The Poem: First stanza, one who has not opened himself up to the world, but may have much to give of himself. I like parclose, and hope you don't mind if I use in future. I use the word proscenium and both have there main meanings but are a wall between one thing and another. Second stanza you are encapsulated by God's Providence, and not the world, therefore what was once your pleasures and delights are of no longer worldly value >> you are exiled to a life where the world (words) cannot be a part of His providence and the persons sanctification.

    Third: Now he opens up, once again on a country lane, this young man who is now under Providence has admitted to being crippled, but that does not mean he has not been changed by the Holy Spirit/God, that is simply a manifestation of the world and the earth suit that he occupies. This man wrought with a temporary sense of despair (Can anyone remember "Why God have you forsaken me? While on the Cross?) Though forlorn, he closes by realizing that his pain is beyond what his physical body can endure, but there is something greater, some purpose, that causes him to rejoice that his sufferings are from a greater realm, and that if God's greatness knows everything that is going on with this man's life, than he will soldier on with purpose.

    In this particular case, if he is a poet, it may enable him to share and give of himself more as a poet than many. Just IMHO. & my perspective, right or wrong, I can see through this poem and the wonder of it all and what God can do.

    Congrats

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    Edit: Well, in my haste in not commenting on the poetic structure, I realized not only does this have a perfect rhyme plan but this is lyrical at it's finest with a well developed meter and 10 syllable count. Extremely talented to make a sentence, when reading, I thought was a quasi-narrative prose so to speak, and do what you did here sir. The mark of a truly beautiful woman is when you do not notice the make up she wears that enhances her beauty. You did that here with your poetry.

    I do apologize for the long answer. I try to shorten them up, but I also want to give my all to a poem , especially when hard work has been put into it.

    ____________________________________________________________________________

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  • 7 years ago

    "I've seen God's greatness, but it has been planned

    That I not speak of what I understand."

    Oh my gosh how powerful these words and how intricate the entire poem.

    I think though, if I may say my favorite stanza,,,it is this.

    "While walking once along a country lane

    I spied a bucket, weather-worn and bare,

    Which time and circumstance half-filled with rain.

    And on its waters I became aware

    Of a lone beetle's silent voyage there,

    And in it, mirrored, life's experience;

    And now I see such visions everywhere --

    I've not dared glimpse the oaken bucket since.

    I'm tortured and yet blessed by Providence;

    It's come to shake my wakefulness with sights

    That pierce me utterly and make no sense.

    And what were once my pleasures and delights,

    And were for my whole life the goal and sum,

    Now exile me to lands where words can't come."

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  • 7 years ago

    Well if your disability is being a great poet then I give you a cane and a lifetime of ink for you to make your way. This gave me the feeling I always get when I see great creativity like I when I read Robert Frost. The way you chose your words and painted your picture is a true talent you should be proud of-----Thanks for that--- Keep Writing---------william

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  • Anonymous
    5 years ago

    challenging problem. research into yahoo and bing. that will will help!

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  • 7 years ago

    Quite a sonnet sequence. Well done as usual as is typical of your posts. I get the image of a prophet or sage who has a vision or visions that he understands but can't explain. Enjoyed the read.

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  • 7 years ago

    In this world telling the truth is thought of as an insult by most people.

    That can be considered a disabilty.Mine is my words were silenced trying to

    please someone.That will end one day.Then I can resume.

    Nice thought out poem.

    bye.

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  • 7 years ago

    The only thing that could make a person more or less of a poet is simply oneself. But your disability is what makes you a poet. You are an amazing poet. The words you have chosen flow together. They have an elegant flow. The subject matter is deep and thought provoking. I thoroughly enjoyed reading. Thank you for sharing. And please continue to write :)

    Source(s): yahoo
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  • HD
    Lv 7
    7 years ago

    You have a plethora of devices in this , alliteration, consonance.

    What struck me tho' is the content

    Your last stanza is the best. I would try to single out a phrase, but cannot, they are all moving.

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  • 7 years ago

    I feel like a deflated light with a lesser ego.

    or sometimes I feel like a bungalow

    nothing upstairs,

    The lights are on ,but I'm not there

    I'm so think, but I don't care

    I got my wellies on , my rain hat to

    I found it quite I found it quick

    a great big puddle... I jump in it.

    against the rubber , I found it wet

    the water deep. up to my chin

    o god ! I'm in deep, get me out

    with your teeth , and with that bite

    I pull and fight , I hear my name you call it out

    we're in deep , We're in deep, I want your loving

    you make me weep ..

    ''Christ ! She screamed, 'What d' you want to go and do that to me for .

    :)

    This is My Disability... :)

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  • Anonymous
    7 years ago

    Does my "disability" make me more or less of a poet? c/c?

    Sorry! I'm not sure what you mean, are you trying to make a statement about disability or, write a poem?

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