Probably Not

In response to an earlier poste, Ank wrote:

"wonderin if the 'you' could even recognize a sentence that makes sense. i usually don't."

Me, neither. I guess not recognizing "what is" is one of my worst traits. I work on it, I really do. Have for a long time, but it seems nearly impenetrable.

Is it the way our brains are wired?

I see the work that's not done. Once something is finished and I have enjoyed the sense of completion for a few minutes, I absolutely cannot see what was accomplished. I only see what's next, what's left.

In more complicated matters, like love, I seem to be unable to see it at all. I have not once in this life been sure of it. People have said, "I love you." and I have felt that they mean it. But I actually cannot see it for myself.

I think, in the case of affection, it comes down to a fundamental shyness--an sense that to be loved would be unbearable intimacy that I am not actually sure that I could be present with.

It seems humorous when I write it, but it isn't always, when I feel it, which mostly I don't. It gets lost in the details of everything else.

And as for sentences and language in general, Ank, I really honestly feel and have felt my whole life like I do not speak nor  understand the English language in the way others do. I am tricked by this over and over. I THINK I heard something, THINK I said something, THINK something was clear, and in fact, I find all sorts of chaos of interpretation. It baffles me completely.

This is why poetry is a refuge for me. It doesn't have to mean anything in particular. It falls, like music or like a chaotic wind on the page and the ear. It carries a meaning, all right, but the meaning is no more clear than the writing of lichen on a rock. It says SOMEthing, but each may go away with a different message, or no message at all.

Come see me. Let's have dinner or a walk.  We don't have to mean anything in particular. We'll drink some wine and tell some stories and rest a little. I miss your shuffle in the kitchen, which has no meaning at all, yet says everything so clearly.

Comments

[Peter]

You write about your poetry well here, I think.

Sometimes your poetry is a refuge for me, too.

[dale]

One of the terrifying things about blogging, for me -- and most interesting and rewarding -- is to see just how often my words go astray, how often people understand something completely different from what i was trying to convey. I don't think you're anything but brilliant with the English language. I think what's different is that you're more sensitive to the evidence of people having misunderstood you than most of us are.

As for love... well, a very wise person once told me that you understand what kind of love a person has for you by what they do, not by what they say. What they say, and what they believe when they say it -- how important is that, really? Again I suspect you're up against not a peculiarity in yourself (whose love ever really stands still and completely reliable?) but a clearer awareness, in this case, of the mutability of your feelings of love.