Cryday
Dearest,
It started snowing about daybreak, still snowing, there's about a foot of it piled up out there already. It's not supposed to stop until tomorrow sometime. I came home in the snow to a dark silent house.Snow falling like it was being poured from a bag.
Hello darkness my old friend, I've come to talk with you again.
I was talking to a co-worker today who said he didn't "get" poetry. As if it were some puzzle that had to be unraveled, interpreted, and explained. I was thinking do people do that with any other "art"? When they look at Starry Starry Night do they feel a need to wring some meaning from it? How about Manet's flowers? No, they just let it happen with whatever feelings it brings. The same thing is true with music, but with poetry somehow they think that they have to beat it with a rubber hose to find out "what it really means".
In restless dreams I walk alone, narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp, I turn my collar to the cold and damp.
It means what it means, in that moment, in that place. The conviction that it must mean something more, there must be a "hidden" meaning, where does it come from? Perhaps they expect that it will express something for them personally. All that hurt and loneliness pressing against their hearts and the backs of their eyes. Do they think it will help let it out?
I know you hate when I get all critical and patronizing, but I'm not really. I'm trying to understand something. I'm working on my understanding. The true work of a philosopher, you laugh, go ahead. I'm going to take my spray paint and write.
The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls, and tenement halls and whispered in the sound of silence. ( yeah, you knew it was coming)
Wish you were here, Your Ken
It started snowing about daybreak, still snowing, there's about a foot of it piled up out there already. It's not supposed to stop until tomorrow sometime. I came home in the snow to a dark silent house.Snow falling like it was being poured from a bag.
Hello darkness my old friend, I've come to talk with you again.
I was talking to a co-worker today who said he didn't "get" poetry. As if it were some puzzle that had to be unraveled, interpreted, and explained. I was thinking do people do that with any other "art"? When they look at Starry Starry Night do they feel a need to wring some meaning from it? How about Manet's flowers? No, they just let it happen with whatever feelings it brings. The same thing is true with music, but with poetry somehow they think that they have to beat it with a rubber hose to find out "what it really means".
In restless dreams I walk alone, narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp, I turn my collar to the cold and damp.
It means what it means, in that moment, in that place. The conviction that it must mean something more, there must be a "hidden" meaning, where does it come from? Perhaps they expect that it will express something for them personally. All that hurt and loneliness pressing against their hearts and the backs of their eyes. Do they think it will help let it out?
I know you hate when I get all critical and patronizing, but I'm not really. I'm trying to understand something. I'm working on my understanding. The true work of a philosopher, you laugh, go ahead. I'm going to take my spray paint and write.
The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls, and tenement halls and whispered in the sound of silence. ( yeah, you knew it was coming)
Wish you were here, Your Ken
Replies