katabasis

Ivan Marchuk, Moonlit Night 1882


Ivan Marchuk

These days, to write feels almost strange, almost selfish. Torrents of flurries of anxieties ignite the nerves, and one feels leeched before the first phrase forms. Solitude outcasts the voices — depersonalises — and what once was an interaction of linings, echoes of a singular voice with many textures, seems now like a procession of isolated galleys. There is no dismissing of these voices, they haul the murderers, the mercenaries of our creative constructs. A succession of disasters that reshape, with the tools of torture, a disjointed spectre of reality, one that bounces only from itself, and is only madness.

I’m sorry, father. I miss you.

Published by

João-Maria

A tick clinging to the bristles of a purple boar.

14 thoughts on “katabasis”

  1. So many swirling thoughts and dark suspicions alight and hover as I read. Your agony and other haunting emotions pour forth. I’m glad you’re getting them out of your system, Joao-Maria.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks, Jade. My poetry has gotten darker, that much is indubitable; but, I find myself healthier, psychologically. I find myself a lot more stable, now.
      I’m glad you still put up with me, beautiful Jade.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Purging the poison is what it sounds like. I will always “put up” with you, Joao-Maria. I’m glad you put up with my incomplete understanding even as I appreciate your word weaving.

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      2. A tidbit of your understanding is already more than I deserve!
        I’m glad the poison is out, but I ought to find ways to see past it. That’s the next challenge, I suppose.
        I adore you, Jade!

        Liked by 1 person

      3. I just recently started writing more often, and it’s amazing how much you can get out just by writing a parallel to your experiences.

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      4. I’m glad you’ve decided to do so! It will surely benefit you and us all.
        I don’t really start with an experience; I write, at least in terms of poetry, opposite of how I compose and similarly to how I paint, which is a bit of an inverted method: I start in absolute free association, absent of any aesthetic pith, and each verse further dilutes the journey until I’m left with some stones to carve, which I then shape around into a “somethingness”.
        There’s no objective clarity to my poems, which isn’t always great. It makes them much hardier, sort of intimate sublimations that don’t always translate outwardly, but it does make them stylistically distinct, which is inarguably a plus.

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      5. That’s actually super interesting. I come from a bit of a background in psychology, so it’s cool to see a full on window to your unconscious. Thank you for sharing your method!

        I lean more towards story writing as my primary interest in writing, so planning definitely required, but I do find myself doing a surprising amount of scenes or background concepts rooted in random moments of consciousness.

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      6. Oh, of course, even my own narrative texts are always somewhat conceptual, even when they lack in veritable lucidity. I’m glad you’ve enjoyed my poem and my sharings; with hope, they might inspire you in some manner.

        Be well!

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  2. Your writing is superb!!! You write in a fantasy/spiritual/poetic manner I enjoy very much! I shall follow you and create dialogue to better our literary journey. Best always and thanks for following johngevanspoet.com. Peace!
    John Gregory Evans

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Warren!, if I knew you’d come asking questions, I wouldn’t have commented on your work.
      I’m jesting, and jubilant that you’d be interested in a blob like me. I don’t actually write as Blake; he was bright and made all sorts of geometries which would, concurrently, breathe into an architecture of shared associative experience. He was certainly a bit crazy, and without a doubt, so am I. He was just smarter at being crazy.
      I have the most varied plethora of influences, many of them non-English (since I’m non-English), from Berto to Cesarinny and Ungaretti, from Maria Machado and Lispektor and Borges, from Eliot to Stevens to Milosz, from Plath to Shelley to Quintais and Pessoa. I also exist in some current literary circles, and all my friends are inspirations with their own founts, and generally more invested in my prose and, concomitantly, reading prose, which is another entire tablet of names that I won’t bother you with.
      Thank you for stopping by; I’m not one for sycophantic approaches, I genuinely liked your blog and shall watch it attentively in future.

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