I'm reading Malcolm Guite's poetic guide through Lent, and this week he is going through a theme of self-discovery, which I have written about in some of the poems I released a few weeks ago, and I love to see other's discuss. I think it can be overdone or melodramatic oftentimes, and perhaps I have slipped into that myself here and there. But I appreciate this poem, James, as something that feels like a casual reminder from a spouse 'you should call and check in with so-and-so, that old friend of yours'!
Here's a stanza from the Guite exerpt today, which itself is from John Davies Nosce Teipsum:
Love that John Davies excerpt, Nick. Also, Malcolm Guite's certainly the guy to follow! In my opinion, it's how he approaches poetry that's so important; what he teaches others is a distant second to how he frames it. Very hard to find others doing likewise.
As for self-discovery in poetry, this is of course only my personal experience but I've found that a decent amount of tempering needs to happen before I can write properly about it. Sometimes it's cathartic to just give it a go—and heck, some people need to because words are how they start to process what's going on, so I'd never want to discourage them—but the poetry I work on seems to translate to others better when the things I write about aren't as raw and immediate. Seems I need to sit with things a bit to see them in both the moonlight as well as the sunshine. (Then again, I'm also a very slow eater.)
I believe Guite said in one of his talks that writing poetry (or anything) can be therapy, but it probably shouldn't be published; rather, just for one's own processing of the emotions. After that, re-write on the topic with the perspective of having gone through healing. I think I agree with you both.
What a wonderful and thoughtful poem, James. It put me in mind of Pinocchio's Jiminy Cricket, the conscience that all of us, who have been lucky enough to have parents and teachers who have taught us right from wrong, have living inside of us.
Thanks so much, Sandy! I saw it as similar: something like the subconscious. Or, if you like, the right hemisphere, the intuition or the wild twin. I find it so unfortunate that we currently view that part of ourselves as something strange, scary and troublesome. We used to be wiser about such things.
What a wise assessment. I wonder how many parents actually talk to their children about the concept of conscience; which - in reality - reflects higher order thinking and executive functioning.
Thanks, man. Like I mentioned to Sandy, I find it weird that we—myself included—now judge this part of ourselves as distant, scary and maybe even a little disturbing. I think we're somehow less in touch with ourselves than we used to be.
The other day, I took a book of letters between Goethe and Schiller to the park and sat and read it for a bit. It felt like my Other took a much needed breath of fresh air!
I'm reading Malcolm Guite's poetic guide through Lent, and this week he is going through a theme of self-discovery, which I have written about in some of the poems I released a few weeks ago, and I love to see other's discuss. I think it can be overdone or melodramatic oftentimes, and perhaps I have slipped into that myself here and there. But I appreciate this poem, James, as something that feels like a casual reminder from a spouse 'you should call and check in with so-and-so, that old friend of yours'!
Here's a stanza from the Guite exerpt today, which itself is from John Davies Nosce Teipsum:
All things without, which round about we see,
We seek to know, and how therewith to do;
But that whereby we reason, live, and be,
Within ourselves we strangers are thereto.
Love that John Davies excerpt, Nick. Also, Malcolm Guite's certainly the guy to follow! In my opinion, it's how he approaches poetry that's so important; what he teaches others is a distant second to how he frames it. Very hard to find others doing likewise.
As for self-discovery in poetry, this is of course only my personal experience but I've found that a decent amount of tempering needs to happen before I can write properly about it. Sometimes it's cathartic to just give it a go—and heck, some people need to because words are how they start to process what's going on, so I'd never want to discourage them—but the poetry I work on seems to translate to others better when the things I write about aren't as raw and immediate. Seems I need to sit with things a bit to see them in both the moonlight as well as the sunshine. (Then again, I'm also a very slow eater.)
I believe Guite said in one of his talks that writing poetry (or anything) can be therapy, but it probably shouldn't be published; rather, just for one's own processing of the emotions. After that, re-write on the topic with the perspective of having gone through healing. I think I agree with you both.
What a wonderful and thoughtful poem, James. It put me in mind of Pinocchio's Jiminy Cricket, the conscience that all of us, who have been lucky enough to have parents and teachers who have taught us right from wrong, have living inside of us.
Thanks so much, Sandy! I saw it as similar: something like the subconscious. Or, if you like, the right hemisphere, the intuition or the wild twin. I find it so unfortunate that we currently view that part of ourselves as something strange, scary and troublesome. We used to be wiser about such things.
What a wise assessment. I wonder how many parents actually talk to their children about the concept of conscience; which - in reality - reflects higher order thinking and executive functioning.
This one feels almost mystical to me. Otherworldly, but completely familiar. I could definitely nod along as I was reading this.
It does a really good job at taking something so unspoken and capturing it with words, in my opinion. A great subject matter, handled well!
Thanks, man. Like I mentioned to Sandy, I find it weird that we—myself included—now judge this part of ourselves as distant, scary and maybe even a little disturbing. I think we're somehow less in touch with ourselves than we used to be.
I agree -- and so does Iain McGilchrist.
The other day, I took a book of letters between Goethe and Schiller to the park and sat and read it for a bit. It felt like my Other took a much needed breath of fresh air!