muri veteres (english poetry)


João-Maria

Published by João-Maria

A tick clinging to the bristles of a purple boar.

29 thoughts on “muri veteres (english poetry)

  1. WOW, WOW, WOW, this is a breathtaking piece. Just wow, what can I say? The level of emotion and thought to this, it’s stirring and quite beautifully penned, as always. Such exquisite and profound poetry, it’s mesmerizing and refreshing. This is marvelous!

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Ah, thank you so much, Lucy. I’ve certainly missed you. Are you doing well? I surely hope so.
      You always like my little pieces; how marvellous. I ought to make you a book one of these days.

      Like

      1. Sorry to disappoint, Ben. I have some struggles with English words; the likes of beginning (which I always write with two g’s before realising it has two n’), the word supplicant (for similar reasons) and the word louring (which I always write as “lauring”). I have similar issues with German; double letters are a weakness, since my native language has none.
        Thank you for your sweetness and for bringing that error to my attention. What a marvellous occurrence, given the theme of the poem.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. I could be way off, but reading this I think of Nietzsche’s Apollonian and Dionysian play between order and subjectivity. And also his no memory without pain.

    This is a wonderful and very dense. As is all your writing. I will enjoy spending time with this one.

    Liked by 5 people

    1. Thank you, Bob, though I must admit I do not have such lofty roots in my poetica. I’m familiar with the Birth of Tragedy and I’m able to draw loosely where you might have seen it, though in truth, I wrote this little thing because of an essay I’ve been forced to elaborate. A progymnasmata, or more specifically, a chreia, apropos a citation from Plutarch’s Fabius Maximus. The citation is roughly about grand emprises being always vulnerable to grand mistakes and the humanity of error is not in its unavoidability, but in its unrepeatability. I personally think differently, as expressed by the poem. I think of errors as formative, yes, and human, surely, but also something else entirely divine and cruel and indelible and obsessive. It’s the smallest unit of being, as two is an error of one and ad infinitum. I suppose there is some Nietzsche to it.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Ah, Stephen!, that’s pretty nice to hear. Contrary to what appears, I do enjoy being accessible; I just can’t always get it done, seemingly.
      Hope you’re doing well, and smooth sailing!

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  3. Beautiful as always. I tend to feel humbled if not envious when you manage to amplify so much in so little space – the first few lines is a great example of this. “Mistakes colored by scars” – things like this, which is close enough in association to immediately be understood, but is never really related so distinctly. It may be just a small color in the larger painting, so to speak, but it becomes so vibrant. Just the right amount of leg work.

    I’m on mobile so maybe I quoted wrong, but I’m pretty sure I’m close !

    Anyway, above that, god, your poems make me feel like I don’t know any words from my own native language!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh, Warren. I’m often lost in this distorted twilight; slashes and twists of the possessive body. I can’t nor think shall ever be able to understand the hows and whys folks as intelligent as you can see anything good in this bound violence and humiliation I give myself to, indexed and crippled in some bleeding river bank of verbiage. It’s a suffocating mystery, but I do feel the gratitude it commands.
      I’m sorry for my sudden absence. I sometimes lose the eyes to see the elsewards.

      Like

    1. Thank you so much, Cheryl. You’re a sunbeam in my little humble blog. No shade nor shield of meanings can block your bounty of warmth, and I’m ever so thankful for it.

      Like

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