h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Entry: I Remember (Secrets) (2) - A54297192
Author: cactuscafe - U1320388

Dear peoples of the AWW

This introduction is too long - apologies - but it has to be written - so that my future introductions can be slick and succinct -

Permit me please to once again cross the hallowed threshold of the AWW - with slight trepidation - but with considerably less trepidation than when I previously crossed this threshold - which was about three years ago.

There are some things I am working on to do with the process of writing - and I would love to share some thoughts and ideas - if anyone has the time or the inclination - even if that is just to re-direct me to a more appropriate context to explore such matters.

The feelings of fear and trepidation are of my own making of course - I have always felt most welcome here!

Much of my nervousness to do with sharing my work in any kind of arts context is to do with the fact that the process of creative writing - (which I describe as word-painting) - is - for me - first and foremost - a lifelong vocation - a necessity - a medicine - or to put it in a more fanciful way - art-as-healing - a very urgent healing.

To try to wrap a thought or a memory or an emotion in words does - for me - act as a kind of bandage or holding or healing - and it is also alchemical - change can occur - a cocooned memory can suddenly take flight on the wing of the word.

Sometimes the wordy-fruits of this rather frenzied and urgent process cannot and should not be shared - and remain forever in the confines of my notebook - and do not even attempt to disguise themselves poetry or anything that could be described as the art of writing.

For these reasons I tend to lurk in the margins - stay on the edge of many aspects to do with the world of art. I know many professional artists - and I am forever amazed at the way they deal with the criticism and the glory - the highs and the lows - the heavens and the hells. They see it as all part of their profession.

However - I do love writing. I love to work with rhyme and rhythm. I love word-painting! Love it love it love it! And now I am once again seeing how it feels to present it in a wider context - like a writing workshop - like here.

There is no doubt - I yet prefer the process of writing to the end-product. I have no sense of a completed end-product - a completed poem - It is always work in progress! I am a very picky editor of my own work! I never ever go ! Perhaps one day I will know this (with a little help from my friends!)

Or maybe not. The essence of my work is in fact - and given that this essence is in fact wordless - then why go on scratching away with the quillpen into the flickering candlelight night - hah! - and why indeed!

Can anyone relate to any of this?

Do you know when a piece of work is complete? Is this a particular satisfaction that I haven't yet experienced?

And what I have recently realised is that despite my trepidation and all the factors that I have expressed in the above paragraphs - I have to admit that I have an awful yearning - a terrible pull - namely that I (sometimes) love to share what I am writing - I need to share what I am writing - I want to share what I am writing - I love to share images - and to talk to other people who write - to explore ideas - to learn -

And maybe work towards that end result? - or maybe not - hmm

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So I am going to begin where I left off three years ago - and re-submit this word-painting - entitled I Remember (Secrets) - which I wrote in 05 - originally under my alterego identity as cactuscafepart2 or phantomcactus (don't ask) .... it is my child! honest it is !

This is an example of art-as-healing - I still whisper this work to myself - like a mantra - a ritual - to help me to deal with this particular relationship expressed here. It is written to be read aloud.

Structurally it is incomplete. I am aware of the fact that I don't introduce the subject of the poem. I possibly am not going to work further on the structure of this particular poem - (saving that for future works) - as I am not intending to present it in any other contexts - merely using it as a practice run to figure out some things. Although please feel free to comment on the structure! - I confess that not even the punctuation is complete - as you will no doubt observe.

The images are cryptic - which is usual for me. I have no idea what it transmits to a reader. No idea at all. Perhaps it doesn't translate. Perhaps it is merely the product of a personal writing-healing-ritual and suggests nothing to an outside reader.

What does this poem transmit to a reader? - that would be you. Hazy atmospheres? Thoughts on secrets? or anything ..........

I would love to know.

Thankyou very much.

Helen

Ahem. Terseness here. I agree about process - but I'm going to mean and awful and talk about this poem synchronically, as a slice of the process, a product of the temporal stop-bath.

Here's what's good about it, and it is very good, indeed:

It demonstrates to all those people out there who think poetry must be like this, rhythmic, rhyme-y, jingly, that this sort of thing can be done well, can be memorable and meaningful and above all, not trite.

>>The wind in the trees did blow anxious and cold<<

I'll let you in on how I read things like this. Heavily rhythmic and rhyming poetry only works for me if you NEVER do what you did here - put in a 'poetic' word choice just to keep the rhythm.

Get rid of 'did blow', I beg of you. Either say 'The wind in the something-trees blew anxious and cold' or 'The wind in the trees, it blew anxious and cold'.

Then we don't feel like we're colluding in artificial old-fashionedness, and we can concentrate on the meaning - of which there is plenty.

ahem. dear sir. what is a temporal stop-bath please?

thankyou for the thoughts (from your wondrous mind ...which might yet evolve into a sense engine ) ... by the way I blame your sense-engine piece for ever prompting me to put this here . .....



didn't I just know you'd be after my dids ? .... I get teased about my dids. ... its a problem. ... and I get teased about rhyming... even though I profess and swear that it just comes out that way ... and I am not really a grey transparent ghost lady walking through doors and up stairs that haven't been there since 1825 ..with a quill pen in my hair ... one day I think someone might actually attempt to remove me from this earth .. again ... hahahahahaha (see line about ghost) ....because I did put another did in mine rhyme ..... ...

you're right of course .... and your line is much better ... ... ..

but should I keep some spare dids under my pillow just in case I did feel so bereft ..... I do feel so bereft? ... ..

the dids preservation society? no? no????? hmm

..... H .....

Thou dost protest too much...

A stop-bath doth prevent the further development of a photographic print, so that it remaineth visible and doth not wax totally black.

It doth present a useful technique, that one is still able to see the vista.

Thou and Isaac Watts and the rhyming disease. There is no known cure short of a daily portion, or pensum, of the redoubtable Allen Ginsburg.

Rhyming poetry can be beautiful and there are certainly parts of this that are just that. I particularly like:
'I remember your beauty in butterfly days
In the sun-shimmer heat of the summertime haze'.

But I agree with Dmitri that it's contrived to include 'did' just to make the rhythm consistent.

It also seems a bit odd to follow summer with winter, spring with autumn.

That's an interesting thought, MVP. Personally, I've always thought that spring/autumn, summer/winter were sort of pairs, although not chronologically...not insisting here, just thinking...

Is it because of the nature of those seasons?

Rereading. I like the seaons like that. It's surprising and thematic rather than chronological.

hah! ... hullo you two! ....

.. interesting observation mvp ... .. my loyal spouse not only teases me mercilessly about my dids and my rhymes (he does a wonderful takeoff) ... but he also once observed the same thing .. only not so politely .. about all the seasons being in the wrong order .... hmm .. I agreed with him at the time ...

although now I think I shall tell him that it's surprising and thematic rather than chronological.. .. and he'll go that's not your line .. it doth not rhyme .. .. ..

seriously folks .. I really do appreciate your insights .. I am enjoying this AWW business much more than I thought .. having a bit of a laugh .. which is always good medicine .. but truly and seriously listening to you and appreciating your knowledge ...

have I found what I was looking for? have my questions been answered? do I feel changed? (see other thread for answers .. re still preferring the process etc .... ...)

on a serious note though .. I took a risk here .. I knew what I was doing .. it was my time .. and the AWW is a challenging yet understanding environment .. but I do believe it to be dangerous at certain times of life to confuse the pathway of art-therapy .. art as healing .. with being the same path as the pathways that run through the worlds of the arts ... it might be a parallel path .. there might be bridges ... even a merging at times .. but it is very risky because the world of the arts can be a ruthless path .. and it is essential not to confuse the two ... for if the confidence to carry out a life-saving process ... art-as-healing .. is destroyed ... then .. in my case at least .. things could get serious ...



this is just my viewpoint .. from personal experience .. no doubt many people would see if differently ...



right now I conclude that I am dedicated to the pathway of art-as-healing .... with the odd fatal flirtation with the art-world ... .. no .. not fatal .. not fatal at all ...

In this instance for example ... this poem I submitted here .. I have found both sides of the coin ....thanks to your help and insights ..

it hasn't lost any of its powers as a mantra I whisper to myself when the going gets rough with the particular subject of the poem .... I know because I just whispered it ... ...

but I did take out the did ... and whispered it as <the wind in the trees, it blew ... etc ... and it sounded great ... and could almost impress an audience of assembled poets ... no .. maybe not ... ...

but not sure if can get around to changing all those seasons ... ..maybe later ... twenty years or so ...

thanks again wonderful AWW peoples ..

see you in twenty years ...

H

I agree that there's a difference between writing for yourself and a few friends and writing with a view to publication.

The publishing business is full of pitfalls, from vanity publishers who will take your money and give your something worthless in return, to competitions where the standard is so high the ordinary mortal doesn't stand a chance. And then there are critics who are really hard on the stuff they read.

Better to stick to hootoo.

It's a beautiful poem, thanks for sharing.

May I offer the idea that the individual work is simply a by-product of the process itself?

That is, I set out to understand something and in the process I write a story or poem, or even a guide entry.

I offer that to people for what they can get out of it - filler for some space, a diversion, a little food for thought, in the case of those critics MVP so astutely mentioned, a dartboard...

Now, the 'work' was not an end in itself, not what dear old Professor Kant called the 'thing-in-itself', but a piece of what Mr Adams called 'the fairy cake'.

As such, if we're honest and respectful of the writing and our audience, we can find it useful, even a thing of beauty in its own right (write?), without feeling in any way threatened in our need to keep going.

All that did I think when reading this thread.

Now Frank O'Connor had a similar problem. His editor solved it by going out to his place and physically wrenching the manuscript out of his reluctant hands. Said, 'I'm publishing this, so there.'

hey ... I'm not supposed to be back here for twenty years ... .. could you all stop being so interesting? ...

hullo B'Elana .. and thankyou for what you said ... hmm .. makes me think about giving .. if I can offer beauty in a poem... well ... even if its a strange dark beauty at times ....

hey mvp ...that is an astute paragraph about it all .. the critics .. the publishers .. the soul-crunchers .... thanks for getting it ..

and maybe somewhere in there are some very good people ... hmm ... have to keep the balance I guess ... maybe I've just known too many people over the years who ran into the soul-crunchers ... some survived though .. hmm ... I do know a few who ran into soul-awakeners ... the good people who really want to bring to light the work of the artist ...just because they believe in the person and the work... no other reason .. no jealousy or backstabbing or weirdness ...



as you say .. better to stick to this land of the owl ... as I now call it ... hootoooo ... I'm OK in the this land of the owl .. its the right level ...



and then this lovely posting from the dmitri mind ... a very enchanting posting ... might take me a day or so to configure its meaning and its message .. (or maybe twenty years .. ) and read it a thousand times to the stars ... ...

yes ... the individual work .. the by-product of the process .. the fairy cake ... ... someone said to me once that as soon as a work is put out there it is no longer the property of the artist who created it .. and people will react to it they way they will ....

a thing of beauty in its own right .. even though .. in my case .. it will always be flawed ... with lots of dots ..... and gaps and spaces and funny bits ..... ... there is no perfection .. so such thing ... the Muse knows this ... hmm



hmm ... learning to let it be ...let it go .. in its own right ... and sharing it ... I'm OK to share the fairy cake .. the by- product .. especially if it is a giving in some way ...in fact that is the catalyst .. if it is a giving .... ... its just finding a workable and realistic level I guess ..

.... with the odd deep dive and leap of faith to keep it spicy ... ..

.. interestingly there is this really prestigious literature festival going on right now where we live ... lots of famous writers and writing workshops and courses and talks etc ... its a much loved festival ... but quite high powered and pedigree ... .. many of us around here feel like a bunch of mongrels trying to survive on the edge of Crufts .. ... we need Scrufts ... ...

yesterday we were sitting in the coffeeshop and lots of the writers and course participants were coming in for coffee ... we were going <he's a famous writer I know he is ..because he has a crumpled linen jacket with lots of pens in the pocket ....and > ... ... hmm

oops .. I hope they're not reading this .. nice people .. hey ... we're just howling at the gate ...because we like playing the part of the outsider haunted artist mongrel ... .. ... .. so you might find us interesting and put us in your next novel ... ..



and somewhere ... just south of 1983 .. a strange Spirit of Poetry stood on the edge of a lake of shadows in which I was drowning .. and threw me a lifejacket ... maybe this Spirit feels glad that I am learning to swim now ... it knows I am grateful ... what can we do in gratitude to those who save our life ... learn to live I guess! .. in our own way ...

hmm .. off to write some fragments ...and think about it all again ......

see you in twenty years .. minutes .. days ... hours ...

H