poetry without a place




They don’t always make it,
thank you,
João-Maria.

Published by João-Maria

A tick clinging to the bristles of a purple boar.

54 thoughts on “poetry without a place

  1. There is such depth, hope and richness to your work. Words are the jewels you possess! Time moves differently around them, it thickens, pools, flows, rushes and slows.

    I read once that “the poem is the alchemist, and the poet is the work” … your poems speak deeply of this truth. Thank you for sharing your work! Blessings always, Deborah.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Deborah, you ought to write soon, so I may once more deposit an entire prosaic essay on your comments.
      You flatter me immensely; I’m still a young-nothing far outstretched over some end of some world. I do my best to dampen time, to become wiser with digestion, and share a universe with myself that isn’t entirely composed of collision.

      You truly were a marvelous find and I can’t count my luck with numbers that faithfully translate it. Thank you, really. Thank you.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. 11. definitely made it.

    I was kind of locked out – a tomb – for some of the other bits further on – but in the main it “spoke to me”. I liked very much David fluttering on his own amidst such environmental hugeness.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Oh, thanks Bruce. 11 is the one I like the least, actually, which is heavily indicated by the fact that I opened with it.
      David is a dear friend one mine; his sister recently died of a tumour, and we have been spending some time together here and there. Coffees (finally) and some hiking. He doesn’t have a lot of folks in this country. His grieving was at a distance, since he wasn’t able to fly home. It’s an awful situation to be in.
      I helped him digest things a bit and now, I’m the one digesting it.
      I’m lucky to have you as a reader, Bruce.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I don’t believe I’m a poet at all; I’m of the school of thought that one needs publishing to acquire certain titles, as we’re all writers but few of us are authors. But it’s all nomenclature and titivation.
        I’m glad I’m potent enough to foster your thought, and I realise how difficult that might be. It’s beyond valuable to me. And I get the monumental honour of reading your comedic posts and jesting with you, which is, by itself, priceless. I’m a pretty bland, saturnine person in the outside universe.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Yippee! I MIGHT be considered a poet because I had two poems published in an anthology last year, and I had a poem printed in my High School magazine that I saw in an anthology 40 years later under someone else’s name!
        I like bland and saturnine. When I win the lottery that’s all I want to be.
        And you have a poet’s soul which according to my definition makes you a poet.

        Like

      3. I have been, and am to this day, sometimes plagiarised here on WordPress, but I never saw an instance of such outside the platform, and I would be odd, since I’m not quite at a level that would justify having anything stolen.
        Now, stealing from a 40 years old High School magazine, that’s quite a smart thing to do. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if 90% of magazine publications today were stolen from high schoolers, given the quality of what they publish.
        I like that you assume I have a soul; being so bland and saturnine, people often confound me with a scarecrow.

        Liked by 1 person

      4. The stolen poem was awful:
        Vietnam: yes, Spring is there now
        but what can be seen but the splattered jaw
        of the soldier lying, dying there now…etc.

        I would love to be a scarecrow; standing all day in fields of flowers waving my arms. I feel another poem coming on…

        Liked by 2 people

    1. It certainly doesn’t feel like that, sometimes. Sometimes you feel your density of being so absolutely, it’s hard to even lift a concept from your mind. It’s hard to take flight, and what is one without one’s fancies? A husk, I feel.
      But I think hope is ineffaceable from any and all states. Or I certainly hope so.

      Like

    1. Excuse me Bob, I didn’t toss out anything, you ought to colloquy with David.

      To clarify: for a while, it was really difficult to get him to smile, for the reasons aforementioned. The first time he smiled, to my noticing, was when we hiked and he reached the top of a small hill. It felt pleasant, a sense of finality, but it wasn’t my doing, thus, a cold glory. It’s a Portuguese idiom to call something a cold glory whenever you obtained the result you wanted but not by your own efforts. The tossed out was, I suppose, the levity of the thing.

      The poem was partially inspired by James Blunt, the best poet of our generation, whose face is entirely real and not at all computer-generated.

      Like

  3. Glad these ones made it. Your writing that is. Thank you for sharing

    I like cold glory tossed out

    Reminds me of feeling foolish of feeling proud.. especially when dwarfed among mountains (even leg-shorn ones 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

      1. With your vocabulary it’s more like delicate trigonometry… 😛

        The repetoire of words you source from Portuguese, French, Latin…(have I left out a few..polyglot?) …it’s a delight to look up the etymology (and weird journeys) of words… Thank you

        Liked by 2 people

  4. Good poem. It seems like it’s a poem about someone struggling to get the recognition they deserve. Like they’re struggling with the notion of selling out their passion, while dealing with Schizophrenia.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. BTW, you should be published. There’s no reason good poetry like this shouldn’t be. It is a problem with our modern age that most of the best aren’t being rewarded. I related to the poem, and when you said “Moraine”, the reference seemed to be to delusions.

    I really appreciated the poem. I didn’t want you to think I was being cruel. It really is good, and a lot of people can relate to David. I know I do.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. You didn’t offend me, Brandon. I just hadn’t the time to reply sooner. I have no authorial tyranny over my poems; you are free to interpret them as you may. I do not, however, understand the associative amalgamation that would pair moraines with schizophrenia. As Bruce detailed above, the poem was meant to create a juxtaposition between the immensity of nature and the immensity of otherness that we can’t fathom; that an exploration of the Swiss Moraines is, in scope, as ambitious as understanding David then, what moves David, what makes him flutter.
      I’m happy that you resonated with him, no matter what you saw in the poem; and I’m happy that you were able to see something else. That means my job was well-concluded. In regards to publication, I have not yet sought it, thus, cannot place blame on the modern age yet, but I’m sure that I eventually will be able to blame it, haha. It’s inevitable for many of us.

      Anyways, best wishes, Brandon!

      Liked by 1 person

      1. You don’t have to publish any of these last comments, unless you want to. I just wanted to share with you what I thought. It’s your theme of otherness. I totally get it. I just can’t express it with my own words. You did such a beautiful job.

        Like, just acknowledging the reality of otherness, it’s a huge thing. Like, so awesome, just like the poem suggests. I wish I could say it like you did. That was a brilliant metaphor. There is otherness. And it is an impasse.

        Liked by 2 people

      2. I shall keep the comments to myself, then, as effigies of the muddled, tortuous process some go through to understand my feeble words, haha. There, even in this very post, a plethora of information regarding the existence of both 23. and 47., which may aid one in how they were conceived and felt at the time they were produced. Grief is, of course, a depressed state, or is within the spectrum of depressed states.
        The subtle sadness that takes years to form, as I see it, is the selfish being, which we are encouraged to spawn and maintain, for our own sentimental protection, just as we found division from nature in order to create and maintain a physical protection. I tried, then, to establish isometry between nature and other, both in their properties and how we interact with them.
        I’m thankful that you find my poems worthy of publication, but I largely don’t; I do not feel ready for the commitment of *selling* work, which would require a certain degree of faith and maturity in it that I do not yet have. But I do very much appreciate all the encouragement!

        Liked by 1 person

      3. Well, I was thinking about your poem all night that night. I truly was. I get the concept. It’s okay to write difficult literature. It sets the metaphor in better than simple writing. It becomes your own, when you’ve struggled with it for that long.

        I totally got what you are saying. I really did. I get it, but you expressed it perfectly in the poem. I just like to analyze works of literature, and I’m very verbal in my thinking process. And I think it’s good sometimes to struggle with a concept in reading.

        It’s near impossible to publish poems right now. But, I’m trying to change that. Personally, I think your poems are worthy of publishing, and it’s unethical not to publish them, so I’m trying to break the ground with my poetry—which is also difficult. It just has to happen that people learn the point of reading poetry. It takes more than one read through to fully comprehend, and some poems you could spend a lifetime reading, and only scratch the surface. It’s the beauty of reading.

        As a last note, that was what I was meditating on. Otherness, The concept of listening to what someone else had said, rather than be fixated on my own ideas, and fully understanding what someone else had said. Just taking in the massive existence of there being otherness. It is like a Moraine.

        I like your character David, too. I feel like him. The first read through, I had gotten Moraine mixed up with Murrain. But that you explained my malapropism, I couldn’t help but think about it all night.

        I hope you and I can be published some day, and I hope you and I can be peers in a literary revival movement.

        God bless!

        Like

    1. Curiously and from what I’ve gathered, many newspapers nowadays, especially in chronicles and opinion articles, use chaffs & chaffs of fustian language. They are even worse than I, and I’m as prolix as a waterfall.

      Like

  6. João, let me take the time to let you know how influential your poems are. They certainly are very unique and they have this, I don’t know, a mystic aura about them that cause me to delve even deeper into your words. From all the poems I have ever read, yours seem to be up a very wonderful alley. I love how you have so much to say about life in those seemingly random yet inspired pieces of poems. Glad to have come across the blog. I’m so stoked and do not have the right words to appreciate your poetry without sounding too pretentious, but all I can say is that I would wait to read even more from you, always. Peace and greetings from Sui generis 💛💛
    Yours admiringly,
    Shanyu

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Shanyu, that means a whole lot! Thank you so much. Don’t worry about sounding pretentious, I do it all the time, and not even on purpose. It overjoys me that folks as you find something important in my poems, it truly does, it makes them justified.
      I’m very grateful.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. You are welcome João. That is so kind of you to say. You certainly have a wonderful way around words. It brings me so much pleasure to read you. I might not be able to respond to respond to all of your posts, but please know that you have a very special place in my journey. Your words, oh how kind, always inspire, and I hope they will always continue to. Take care.
        Always,
        Shanyu💛

        Liked by 1 person

  7. Really enjoyed this Joao. I tend to lean towards the pithy side of things, and so,

    “you’re one day struck with yourself as if lightning had metal plumes and their sounds were scents as they fell”

    (The entirety of 47.2 but specifically), “All of your expression is a sacrifice”

    and

    “let no destruction differ from your own”

    really stood out to me.

    As usual, great work.

    Hope things are well (enough).

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Things are great, Warren. A bit tired of exams, especially during this sensitive time, as they seem especially taxing. I, too, am hopeful that things are well for you. And do write soon. More poetry, if you can. Parsimony and patience are magnificent attributes, but so is talent and eagerness, and you have one while I have the other.
      (and it’s so warm that you find some of my verses pithy. What else would one ever like to hear?)

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Oh good! Rest is for the dead, eh?

        Personally, I’ve been pretty dry lately but, I feel a high tide coming!

        As for the humility at play, I won’t accept it.

        Instead, I’ve taken your comment as a clever slight. Which I prefer.

        At any rate, I’m looking forward to more of your work João.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I’m glad that you are! It means a lot. Though folks as you give me the Bernard sensation. There is a tenuous line between profundity and artistic puerility that I can’t always balance in a proper way, and your eyes are those that more quickly notice the gaps.
        But, as Louis once said, you are the ones that inspire poetry!
        I eagerly await your high-tide. Truly. It will be a glorious one.

        Liked by 1 person

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