Talking about poetry
Sep. 27th, 2013 12:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
I find it hard to spend time with people I don't know well; I find it hard to get to know people; I find it hard to trust. This is the source of a great deal of on-going soul-searching and the beneficiary, I suppose one could say, of a great deal of my time and money.
There's one obvious exception to this, and that's poetry.
There's P: the first time I met him, it was an orchestra social; he was in the country for a conference and it was an opportunity to catch up with a lot of people he hadn't been able to see in a very long time. We got talking, and we didn't stop, and I couldn't even feel bad about monopolising him.
The second time we met, he was on his way from the Balkans to Paris. I was living in Zurich. He spent a weekend with me: nights sleeping on the floor of my bedsit, days cooking and playing Scrabble and walking in the woodland near my flat and, yes, swapping poetry. We don't see each other often - maybe twice a year - and we're both dreadful correspondents; and yet I always have space for him, in my heart and in my home, and it has never been awkward. Strange and sometimes too bright to look at, yes, but never awkward.
There's CK, too - Harry's widower. It was only after Harry's death I found out he'd been a poet; and that was, sort of, eventually, how I ended up spending time with CK. There's a pattern to our afternoons, our evenings: we talk about death, and we talk about music, and we talk about poetry. I loaned him Neruda's love sonnets; he loaned me Borges. And actually, more recently, there's been a shift: we talk less about death and more about life, and - it is, yes, that's the way to describe it: bittersweet. Again: I always have a space for him, in my heart and in my home.
I know
jjhunter because of poetry: in my heart, and in my home.
I've been thinking about communication a fair bit, lately. Because I'm working on feelings with my counsellor, yes: and then the other night I realised that some of the reason they might be finding me hard to get a grip on, as a client, is that I am really very strange about how I communicate, as far as I can tell.
Here's the thing: I'm very open about an awful lot, but I'm close to almost no-one. There is nobody I trust to want me enough to make time for me when I need it, or, perhaps, there's no-one I feel comfortable enough imposing on, no matter how many times they tell me that they are willing to drop everything for me. This leads to obvious problems, of course, like: because I am so very open about so very much, it's very easy to assume that I am very open about everything, and I'm not, because it's easy to be open about facts and much harder to be open about feelings. The things I tell everyone about are the ones I can skate over, can ignore the depths of: I talk frankly and freely about mental illness, but only when I'm not mired in it, only when it is a ghost of a memory.
(That's - the tainted blessing, stubborn curse of depression, for me, really: when I'm bad, I can't remember what good feels like, and I can't believe it exists. But the precise reverse is true when I am well: it is as though I am looking back at events carefully pressed and preserved under glass. I know that this happened, that I said and felt these things, but it's wholly intellectual: it isn't in the gut.)
So. Being open, juxtaposed with being close: this is actually, I think, very indicative of the two modes of communication I operate with.
It takes me about six hours of in-depth in-person conversation to be reliably able to recognise someone. It takes me much, much longer than that to get to a point at which I trust myself to understand enough to not do harm - to switch from attempts to communicate explicitly and clearly and unambiguously, to communicating in nuance and resonance and things unsaid, in richness and in layers and in love.
Poetry sidesteps all of that. When talking about poetry - when I mean it - being explicit is superfluous, almost sacrilege. It isn't how I speak. It's unnecessary. I will say: ah, and I will tell you that I love you in the poem that I give you, in the care of my choice, in how I watch your face as you read it, in how I wrap my arms around myself until you are ready to talk about it and then lean toward you, closer. And if it will work, we will work, then you will smile I love you back to me, and in the spaces between poems we will lose ourselves in the spaces between lines, between words.
My poetry this year has been - raw, I think: it's about embodiment, it's about trust, it's about wearing our histories on our skins, it's about learning to read one another literally not figuratively, it's about flesh as poetry and poetry as flesh, it's about laying oneself bare, and it's about being safe.
Poetry lets me speak intimately with strangers, to give only of myself what is given in return - and "only" and "wholly" are, after all, so very similar in shape. Small wonder, then, that stepping joyfully (so whole-hog, so whole-hearted) into intimate modes of communication makes intimacy of mind easier for me, and yet it is only now that I begin to realise it.
There's one obvious exception to this, and that's poetry.
There's P: the first time I met him, it was an orchestra social; he was in the country for a conference and it was an opportunity to catch up with a lot of people he hadn't been able to see in a very long time. We got talking, and we didn't stop, and I couldn't even feel bad about monopolising him.
The second time we met, he was on his way from the Balkans to Paris. I was living in Zurich. He spent a weekend with me: nights sleeping on the floor of my bedsit, days cooking and playing Scrabble and walking in the woodland near my flat and, yes, swapping poetry. We don't see each other often - maybe twice a year - and we're both dreadful correspondents; and yet I always have space for him, in my heart and in my home, and it has never been awkward. Strange and sometimes too bright to look at, yes, but never awkward.
There's CK, too - Harry's widower. It was only after Harry's death I found out he'd been a poet; and that was, sort of, eventually, how I ended up spending time with CK. There's a pattern to our afternoons, our evenings: we talk about death, and we talk about music, and we talk about poetry. I loaned him Neruda's love sonnets; he loaned me Borges. And actually, more recently, there's been a shift: we talk less about death and more about life, and - it is, yes, that's the way to describe it: bittersweet. Again: I always have a space for him, in my heart and in my home.
I know
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
I've been thinking about communication a fair bit, lately. Because I'm working on feelings with my counsellor, yes: and then the other night I realised that some of the reason they might be finding me hard to get a grip on, as a client, is that I am really very strange about how I communicate, as far as I can tell.
Here's the thing: I'm very open about an awful lot, but I'm close to almost no-one. There is nobody I trust to want me enough to make time for me when I need it, or, perhaps, there's no-one I feel comfortable enough imposing on, no matter how many times they tell me that they are willing to drop everything for me. This leads to obvious problems, of course, like: because I am so very open about so very much, it's very easy to assume that I am very open about everything, and I'm not, because it's easy to be open about facts and much harder to be open about feelings. The things I tell everyone about are the ones I can skate over, can ignore the depths of: I talk frankly and freely about mental illness, but only when I'm not mired in it, only when it is a ghost of a memory.
(That's - the tainted blessing, stubborn curse of depression, for me, really: when I'm bad, I can't remember what good feels like, and I can't believe it exists. But the precise reverse is true when I am well: it is as though I am looking back at events carefully pressed and preserved under glass. I know that this happened, that I said and felt these things, but it's wholly intellectual: it isn't in the gut.)
So. Being open, juxtaposed with being close: this is actually, I think, very indicative of the two modes of communication I operate with.
It takes me about six hours of in-depth in-person conversation to be reliably able to recognise someone. It takes me much, much longer than that to get to a point at which I trust myself to understand enough to not do harm - to switch from attempts to communicate explicitly and clearly and unambiguously, to communicating in nuance and resonance and things unsaid, in richness and in layers and in love.
Poetry sidesteps all of that. When talking about poetry - when I mean it - being explicit is superfluous, almost sacrilege. It isn't how I speak. It's unnecessary. I will say: ah, and I will tell you that I love you in the poem that I give you, in the care of my choice, in how I watch your face as you read it, in how I wrap my arms around myself until you are ready to talk about it and then lean toward you, closer. And if it will work, we will work, then you will smile I love you back to me, and in the spaces between poems we will lose ourselves in the spaces between lines, between words.
My poetry this year has been - raw, I think: it's about embodiment, it's about trust, it's about wearing our histories on our skins, it's about learning to read one another literally not figuratively, it's about flesh as poetry and poetry as flesh, it's about laying oneself bare, and it's about being safe.
Poetry lets me speak intimately with strangers, to give only of myself what is given in return - and "only" and "wholly" are, after all, so very similar in shape. Small wonder, then, that stepping joyfully (so whole-hog, so whole-hearted) into intimate modes of communication makes intimacy of mind easier for me, and yet it is only now that I begin to realise it.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-27 11:54 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-27 03:21 pm (UTC)You're amazing, you are.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-27 12:44 pm (UTC)it is about not being witty per se
more making space for feeling, defining
experiences like depression and bodily negotiation
reframing, commenting, critiquing, crystallizing
so that your words can expose, rewrite old workarounds, normalize humanity
and, y'know, act as a sandbox for sorting out how you relate to reality
that kind of thing
(thank you for sharing - your raw bold words here are affecting me much the way your exploration of how to make love to a trans person did and does, the way you strike resonance not just with Sappho but with me, with so many of us, the way you frame confidence as a route to competence and shake my head inside out and thruward back to on. The way your prose is like poetry, and your poetry like unfurling, like light of a dawn geological, tectonic, lovely like black fertile earth rich with volcanic dust and generous with its wonder. thank you)
(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-27 12:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-27 03:19 pm (UTC)(The poem I'm quoting in there brackets is Between, by Michael O'Siadhail -- and I've just discovered that the poet has a page on his website that will href="http://osiadhail.com/poem/">give you a random one of his poems!)
(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-27 09:07 pm (UTC)-- I love that you write poems about poems; I love that we live in a world where that's a thing you can do, where you can make the precursors and referents explicit, because it is so beautiful that this is... an actual thing. Here is the thing it reminds me of: Verse Kraken. I have the first issue in physical form: to stay as true as possible to its intended shape, it's a small cardboard box filled with... pieces, for you to lay out and arrange and put together as it calls to you, so the order is your own and the calling likewise.
The sandbox - I... almost want to write the story in which the illicit trade in neologisms is a thing that happens. -- and oh, oh, but that slips easily into place next to something else, a short story trying to be written, for The Earthquake Peddler - I am not sure how they fit, yet, but I can feel them wanting to, with words having power, earth-shattering power, to rearrange the world around us - yes.
I -- you. You. You're amazing and inspiring and you make me feel as though it's okay to dare to dream, and I don't think I am ever going to be able to tell you what that poem did to - for - me that night in December (it didn't make things alright, but it... made them just a little better), but - I think you know what I mean even if I can't find the words, and thank you. I -- feel sometimes as though I will be enriched if I manage to reflect only a little of your light, and here you shine myself back at me. <3
(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-27 01:40 pm (UTC)With poetry, I think there's a way in which you can bypass some of those inhibitions that make it more difficult to communicate in speech or in prose.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-27 03:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-27 03:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-27 03:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-27 04:57 pm (UTC)It is hard for me also, the getting close to people. There is this gap between "hello I think you are possibly a person I could like to know, and I have no idea what to say to you unless you get me started about harps in which case I will talk your ear off with any encouragement at all, because that is a thing I know how to talk about and that I love, but then after that I am back to awkward", and "person I can count on to actually want me around and spending time with them will be good", that I have a great deal of difficulty bridging. It can be easier in the context of a group of friends, where my getting to know what someone is like doesn't have to be all via direct interaction (and people can see ahead of time that yes, the hugging is a very typical way for me to interact with people) but... I worry that my switch from shy to hello-I-like-you(glomp!) is going to weird people out, especially because it has, and from there to trusting that I am allowed to impose - that that is welcome, even - is another long ways.
So um. Yes. <3
(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-27 09:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-28 02:46 am (UTC)I've been feeling this a lot recently (though with books instead of harps) and so I love the way you've expressed that feeling here.
I'm also feeling that gap.
So thank you so much for sharing this.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-27 06:28 pm (UTC)My bluntness has something to do with it, I know...I've overheard people say "Did she really just say that?" Younger people tend to be able to accept my communication style, but now that I'm over 40, I don't have the opportunity to meet younger people, and they would shy away simply because of my age. And with people of my own age, I too feel like I am imposing.
Recognition is also a huge issue for me. I can't identify the parents of children in my daughter's class, even though she has been in the same class (single-grade school) for six years now- it's clear that the parents easily recognise me, but I suppose that with the fact that each time I meet them is like the first time, they think I'm more standoffish than I am.
And of course, "the tainted blessing, stubborn curse" has a great deal to do with it. I have trouble caring, even though I am lonely.
I wish I would meet a poet- in fact, I know that most of them also tend towards depression. It's difficult, because I'm many miles from any large town.
(It always seems to me that I blog in your comments, which also makes me feel as though I'm imposing, but my communication style only allows me to compare myself with you.)
(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-27 09:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-27 09:14 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-28 02:59 am (UTC)It takes me much, much longer than that to get to a point at which I trust myself to understand enough to not do harm. I have been thinking about this quite a bit lately. I've made a few new friends on DW in recent times and have at certain points found myself wondering whether a certain thing is okay to say, what this person needs trigger warnings for and what their gender pronoun of choice is. I am looking forward to reaching the point where I remember these things comfortably and start being able to communicate with nuance and love, as you said.
This post also makes me want to write more poetry. So thank you for sharing it.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-28 03:08 am (UTC)One of the things I have seen friends do is post polls, then link to them prominently (e.g. from their profile or sticky post), which include things like "what would you like content notes for? what are your pronouns? what would you like me to call you?" -- it seems to work pretty well for them (and I tend to keep my responses up-to-date).
I am so glad you want to write more poetry, and I look forward to reading it ♥
(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-28 06:57 am (UTC)I had been considering doing something similar. Do you think a poll or an open discussion would work better? Do polls allow more privacy? I've not really had much experience with them.
At the moment, I'm a bit preoccupied with
aaargh, deadlinea not-so-short story I need to have finished very soon. Once I'm finished with that, I hope to relax enough for poetry :)(no subject)
Date: 2013-09-28 08:22 pm (UTC)