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Sunday, May 24, 2009

Poetry Train Monday - 102 - Does It Ever End?


Last week I turned part of a journal into my latest found poetry. I'm going to continue with the same journal for awhile.

Here's a look at some of my negative emotional reactions to situations and things.

Ride the Monday Poetry Train Revisited.













Does It Ever End?


I often get
Scenes which include
Flogging
They come to me
In my writing
It's like being haunted

Raw meat
Really hate looking at it
Handling it
Rarely cook meat at home

Flogging scenes
Come to me
Haunted by the
Sounds of it

Human musculature
Really, really hate
Anatomy drawings
As long as there is
Skin present
Dancers, athletes
I'm a big fan of
Well-developed muscles
But not the raw-meat variety

Flogging
It's like being haunted
By the sounds of it
By the cries of pain
Apparently
I try to work this out
Through my characters

Circumstance in life
I complain about:
Manager who tries to
Demean me
Put me in my place

Faults I notice most
In others:
Scapegoating
Blaming
Self-interest
Cowardice

Injury or disease
I fear:
Any pain purposely
Inflicted.
Torture.
Re-injuring my knee

Circumstance
I purposely avoid:
Won't beg
Or plead
For anything
Had to learn
To ask for
Help

Still difficult

Not keen
On addressing crowds
Don't really like it
When
Everyone's looking at me
Waiting
For me to speak

Experience or activity
I especially fear:
Having to bear
Horrible pain
Loss of the esteem
Trust
Respect
Of those I love
Truly losing control
When I'm
Enraged
I fear
Hurting someone

Haunted
By the sounds of it
By the cries of pain

Apparently
I try to work this out
Through my characters
They come to me
In my writing
It's like being haunted















- Julia Smith, 2009 / original text 2002

Stills are from the Russian film 1612.

Susan Helene Gottfried says Oh, I so relate to a lot of this. The need to work things out, the recurring images, the need to let my characters speak for me...

Anthony North says So much of ourselves goes into our writing.

Robin says Some of my best writing comes to me completely unbidden, no rational reason behind it.

10 comments:

  1. Oh, I so relate to a lot of this. Not the flogging and certainly not the fear of speaking out. But the need to work things out, the recurring images, the need to let my characters speak for me...

    I really don't know what I would do if I didn't have fictional characters who can say the things I can't. Express the feelings I'm not allowed to show.

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  2. So much of ourselves goes into our writing. An excellent post.

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  3. Some of my best writing comes to me (or rather used to come to me before my muse ran off with the circus) completely unbidden, no rational reason behind it.

    Muses can be very capricious, but their gifts are immeasurable.

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  4. I can relate as well..
    My ex saved a beheading footage on my laptop and I opened it by mistake. Now I can't get the first secs I saw out of my mind and head. I don't even like people holding my neck... messed up!

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  5. I agree, we put a lot of us into our writing. Very vivid.

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  6. I found this one haunting as well. I do love letting my characters speak the things I dare not say and do the things I have not the courage to do.

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  7. Susan - Thanks for your comment. It makes me feel understood in a way that's really comforting.

    Anthony - It makes me wonder what part of myself keeps bugging me for attention.

    Robin - In a weird way, I feel I need to speak for my suffering characters, to let their stories out. I definitely bow to the commands of my Muse.

    Lion-ess - Holy crap. That would be incredibly disturbing.

    Gautami - I think the Taliban has a bizarre affection for monstrous behaviour.

    Bobbi - Thank you.

    Nikki - Thank you, too!

    Dorothy - I think my own sense of being haunted got captured by the poem, somehow. And I think our characters change us after the time we spend with them. How can it be otherwise?

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  8. Haunting poem, I found. I witnessed once, a graphic photo of a beheaded person, ugh, I still can't get it out of my mind.

    Great post.

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