I have mentioned elsewhere in this blog that poetry is not generally read anymore, much less commented upon, but there seems to be one unexpected exception. Anonymous has been commenting frequently and multi-linguistically lately. I don't know why, nor do I know what Anonymous sees in poetry. I am puzzled. These are murky waters and I confess, I begin to wonder what use a man of reason may be amongst them. Here is a recent example from "Gardening With Geo.":
Monday, February 27, 2012
Where The Future Is
I will tell you
Where the future is.
I step beyond my
Shadow on the green
Back door to
Where she put a
Hat on him
And grandmothered dreams
The future roams our
Work in short steps
Under boughs and birds,
Seeing all, startled
At wind-eddies, awed
At assemblies of
Ants and daffodils.
I am paid in pebbles.
Posted by Geo. at 10:01 PM 4 comments:
This the ARYAN BLOG with GEOLOGIE HURE?
You with DARLENE- PLO?
FLAKSTE- ORFLAST - DYST?
March 2, 2012 10:17 PM
No, Anonymous, this is the blog about quantum horticulture. I believe you want the blog down the road.
March 3, 2012 7:10 AM
Новинка сезона - мазь для оргазма. Из инструкции: "...1 сантиметр пасты выдавить на ладонь и втирать в член до наступления оргазма...
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Эротическая фотогалерея от Mr.Wobbly
March 9, 2012 7:42 PM
Thank you, Anonymous, for reading my poem and offering such a creative, if confusing, use for pasta. Best of luck with "Mister Wobbly".
March 9, 2012 7:44 PM
Arguably, if it weren't for Anonymous my poetry would have little readership and, in some sense, the added traffic is welcome. Poetry can be a lonely business and its practitioners often feel very much surplus to today's requirements. Still, one tries to understand the sensibilities of one's audience --in this case, Anonymous.
Experience tells us the key to character lies as much in its contradictions as its consistencies. Anonymous wishes desperately to be known but not identified. Anonymous seeks poetry but leaves comments of questionable coherence. Despite the unfortunate reality that my poems are not very beautiful, Anonymous might simply seek beauty.
Anonymous might crave that glow, no matter how faint. We are all happier when something beautiful approves of us. But in the presence of beauty many of us can only marvel and gag. There is a stage of personal growth at which rejection, intellectual or emotional, by beauty can leave one's whole view of the world in ruins, so there is danger. There is fear.
I am left to conclude this is indeed what happened to Anonymous. At some point in his or her life, supreme beauty was encountered and Anonymous's mind was toppled by it; language was confounded and purposes, confused. Loathe as I am to admit it, Anonymous reads my poetry because a bad experience with great beauty has driven the poor creature to seek solace in the opposite extreme.