Writing History, One Poem at a Time

The history of a poem is rarely a dull read.

The few straggling lines that survive the insurrection

are a poet's crack brigade: his legion

of warring thoughts marshalled

against art and life,

the impermanence of being

an abridged chapter in the great book

of humanity's passing. His ache

for being recognized accordingly,

the divine comedy of a self imposed

piety, commands the reader--Stop,

sit, and listen to what

I know to be the truth of who I am.

The grand Catechism of existence,

of nothing weaved into something.

From such humble beginnings,

honest thoughts honestly commissioned,

the tides of men are turned,

brought to heel, sometimes

even arrested. Our history

for one tragic moment divided

from the urge to conquer

pieces hearts together

from disparate propulsions

to find peace among the roses.

A freshly scrubbed lover

shorn of contempt

bids no trump to your two spades,

a trick you never quite anticipated,

to cross the border under a white flag

to sit, stop and listen to what

the sights, sounds, and smells

of another's passion tastes like

once the editing has been completed.

The truth, as every Poet knows,

is a compendium of suffering,

of slights, slings, and sorrows

from which accounts may

or may not

ever be balanced. A murder

is simply a mercy killing misnamed:

a poem nothing more--

than history being written.

Ken e Bujold

© 2022

Reviews

[red93]

Great Poem Ken and one that all true Poets have lived to their cost. So many memorable plangent resonances. Excellent ✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

[softlyfall]

Every time I read one of your poems, I feel like it demands rereading, many times, because they are always so filled with both thematic and literary treasures. Slings and arrows cued hamlet in my brain, which is always welcome. I love literary references. I love all references , truth be told, because I love poetry that is filled... like yours.

[Ken e Bujold]

glad to be so obliging. :))

[Coyote Poetry]

I loved the complete poem Ken.
"of slights, slings, and sorrows

from which accounts may

or may not



ever be balanced. A murder

is simply a mercy killing misnamed:

a poem nothing more--"
The above lines. Just so damn good. I could discuss this poem. Thank you for sharing the outstanding poetry. I did enjoy this one.
Coyote

[Ken e Bujold]

thank you Coyote, for the kindness of your great review

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome Ken.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

"I argue thee that love is life and life hath immortality. To love is so startling it leaves little time for anything else." Emily Dickinson

What is poetry but the love of life? And what passions may we taste that we do not harbor in the port of our own souls? We sip the soup to see if it is to our liking but one taste will not satisfy everyone. But it is not given to everyone to be a chef. Some of us start with only stones to cook. But we add, little by little with things we glean from life. I enjoyed reading your poem. I don't think I believe everything is as bleak as all that but life is certainly full of suffering and woe. Do we hasten to report it or do we offer some solace from our own stores? Confucius said in The Analects, " It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness." But others may rain on our parade and wet the matches we would use to get the flame going. What will history say of poets; that they were brave souls daring to enlighten the world or bitter dying men afraid of the dark? It may be up to us to write our own epitaph.

[Ken e Bujold]

thanks for the great review Fabian. I don't think life is bleak either. For me the poem is 3 segments: the first is simply observation that a poet choses what he keeps and what he edits from his lines. The second hinges on the line "Stop, sit and listen" which is a reminder to us all that life is all around us if we chose to observe it. The 3rd begins with "the truth, as every poet knows" which may seem bleak with the mercy killing image, but really is not so much in my eyes, it merely alludes to a poet's desire to sketch life in all of its aspects, bright and dark as the hues may be

[Fabian G. Franklin]

I liked your presentation. Well done. I had a friend who referred to editing as "crunching children"...sounds scary but he meant our words are our babies and it hurts us to deny them life but sometimes we feel obliged to abort them in the editing process. Even Hollywood has a cutting room floor, eh?

[Ken e Bujold]

i like the crunching children image, may borrow it at some point. for myself the final edit is rarely that difficult, a few stray syllables, odd break in line. The real b***h is in the 3rd (or 4th) rewrite of a piece, when I really have to justify each and every choice I make. While my cadence often seems easy, almost rolling wheat in the wind, it is hardly a simple witch to tame by times

[Fabian G. Franklin]

I understand. I'll write and rewrite a piece until it suits me. But the first draft is always in pen. It's how I create, pen on paper and then to the word program for editing. I print hard copy for my files, save digital to a USB and store it in the cloud plus post it in several places on the web. That way, I can find or revisit it when I want.

[NeiL ArandA]

As a poet we try to express the inexpressible from some old and ancient encounter we could not seen to forget despite the incident cease to become relevant.

[Perdition]

When do words lift off their page and become more than just some linear story, they become more than simple mortality, when do words become a poem, that something infinite that grinds beneath the minds of the reader?
This has all the elements and is a fantastic "write" but is this that jewel you keep by your side? Doesn't matter, does it? As poets, we are too busy counting leaves and watching the way the sunlight plays with the audience of faces on a bus ride.

This one begins its stride with:

" Stop,
sit, and listen to what
I know to be the truth of who I am.

The grand Catechism of existence,
of nothing weaved into something."

and never relinquishes momentum. Enjoyed the read....thanks!

[Ken e Bujold]

thank you Perdition. the eloquence of your review is a joy to read. I agree wholeheartedly that the poem hinges on "stop, sit, and listen" which I believe is what we do as poets.
stop by anytime
Ken