"Out of the night that covers me..."
Am I
Inviable?
Or
Invictive?
Surely,
I am not impotent.
I have proven that.
Short of having
Produced progeny
That was not poetry.
While I have been known to complain
Of wounds
And woundings
I’ve said such more
To pronounce
Pride in scarring
Rather than
Profane the garnering
Of lessons learned through pain.
If I were crippled,
Would I still move?
Would I yield to the Fates?
To doom me
From being whole
In body and
Soul?
Never in my life
(never on my life)
Have I felt so complete?
Or so close to unassailable
As when I was young and free…
I felt so alive
When I spoke in a deep voice,
“I am home.”
I was “walking like a demon,” (she said)
Through darkness, past pain and detractors,
Carrying seemingly weightless packs upon my back.
I was as a demon, possessed, at home, in the woods in the mountains in the night.
“Black as a pit from pole to pole,”
I knew my place, from whence I came and was-not caring where I was going.
I felt at home, a being looking up from the dark side of the Earth to the heavens,
Blinded on both sides by the unknowns of the wilderness- preserved.
(The above was inserted in an edit, if you're going to procrastinate, you might as well have something to show for it.)
I suppose, of any poetic work, despite my own works and those that have been given to me by people I know or have otherwise could have known (from lit mags)...and despite any sort of class material over the years, Invictus -by William Ernest Henley, has had the greatest impact on my psyche, and it has probably had the greatest impact on my writing style, at least the early stages, as well.
While the work has been paraphrased in court by our very own Eric Rudolph (I wonder if he was in Huntsville for that one, or wait...didn't they grant a move of venue...again? I don't recall) and used in a final "communique" by McVeigh before his execution...this is probably the one poetic work I want in full, or partially quoted, on my tombstone. Sure...I'd prefer to write my own epitaph, and probably will...but I at least don't want anyone kind enough to visit my grave/remains/marker or memorial of some kind (presuming I get anything of the sort), to at least know that if I wrote poetry, if I kept up my integrity, will and some level of drive in my life, and if I got somewhere that may be important to them...that Invictus was the proverbial kick start. I don't believe it was the FIRST poem I ever read, but it was the first poem I was unable to forget reading. I actually DO have it fully memorized still, I have since middle school- and if anyone today was to claim that such would be bad, or because of some homegrown terrorist's influence or tribute to heathens, charlatans, jingoists or what have you...then I would very much like to remind them who William Ernest Henley was, and what he suffered. (Detractors should try getting their education in a hospital, losing a leg to the incompetence of the doctors in your area, have people tell you that if you're going to keep being alive, you have to lose the other one- seriously thank Joseph Lister for 30 years added of life. Nevermind starting off being potentially lethally ill at 12, and fairly well impoverished before that.)
Arguably, with the greatest hardships come the greatest opportunities.
As there "are no obstacles...only challenges." (I picked that one up from the Groove Soundtrack, don't ask me who actually said it right now.)
Suffice to say, I am, and was, inspired- even in some degrees it seems I may have channeled- by Henley, or at least his style and remaining literary persona. I would and probably should endeavour to be more like him, though perhaps less...I don't know...bitter? I have not had his hardships. I have had my own, and by today's standards they may be considered hardships, but I would not say I have lost anything like my left leg (below the knee) and nearly my right or my first and only born (I've yet to have any and am in no rush to get to that).
I owe my forebears this: That I master MY language. I do not mean THE English language, though I have every intent to defend it and make it my tool for survival and success. (Call me Anglophile, but spare me an Imperialist label.)
I may now be an anthropologist and wanna-be activist and intellectual, but I was a poet first, a photographer second and a person before any of that (one who watched people in preference to speak to them).
I suppose my marching order is a little different these days, I take turns wearing the different hats. I would like to be a photographer AND a poet at the same time, but if my skillset will serve me in years to come, I will have to keep the artist and the anthropologist (or even the journalist) in me...mutually exclusive? I suppose we will see. I do not feel that I will have to specialize more than is necessary, and I do not feel I have to sacrifice some part of my humanity and spiritualism to be a social scientist or an "impartial observer."
I have a social conscience, it just isn't quite organized the same as some peoples'.
Anyway, I slacked my thirst for Henley's works by downloading 17 of his poems in an E-Book. Woot. Very much free, very much freely provided via the "internet."
"I will use this 'internet' though I do not trust it." (paraphrase from the quiz that follows)
Semi-obligatory quiz posting:
WilliamSinister, you're now logged in!
Below you'll find your test result. After, continue on to your
homescreen to discover what we're about.
continue to OkCupid homescreen >
The Romantic
It's hard to be a true Romanticist, in these difficult times, but you have definite Romantic inclinations. Try as you might, you can't turn your back on the world of emotion and imagination. You feel stifled by the soulless, consumeristic, mass-produced society you find yourself in. You yearn for some form of wild, dangerous beauty in your life. Keep looking, and you might find it.
My test tracked 1 variable How you compared to other people your age and gender:
You scored higher than 94% on Romanticism
Link: The Romanticism Test written by johnnyampersand on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test
To end, what I figure is Henley's most Romantic poem (in a more modern sense I suppose):
Between the Dusk of a Summer Night
Between the dusk of a summer night
And the dawn of a summer day,
We caught at a mood as it passed in flight,
And we bade it stoop and stay.
And what with the dawn of night began
With the dusk of day was done;
For that is the way of woman and man,
When a hazard has made them one.
Arc upon arc, from shade to shine,
The World went thundering free;
And what was his errand but hers and mine --
The lords of him, I and she?
O, it's die we must, but it's live we can,
And the marvel of earth and sun
Is all for the joy of woman and man
And the longing that makes them one.
William Ernest Henley
It speaks to me, the me that was and the me that wants to be born anew.
I don't feel I'll find such rebirth here.
This is Purgatorio, while I am in search of Paradisio. (I need to read BOTH of those books translated by Ciardi, but I also have a new translation of the Inferno complete with Italian to compare it with.)
We are nothing if we know not our past, but we must be able to move toward a future, whether it is foreseable or not.
Inviable?
Or
Invictive?
Surely,
I am not impotent.
I have proven that.
Short of having
Produced progeny
That was not poetry.
While I have been known to complain
Of wounds
And woundings
I’ve said such more
To pronounce
Pride in scarring
Rather than
Profane the garnering
Of lessons learned through pain.
If I were crippled,
Would I still move?
Would I yield to the Fates?
To doom me
From being whole
In body and
Soul?
Never in my life
(never on my life)
Have I felt so complete?
Or so close to unassailable
As when I was young and free…
I felt so alive
When I spoke in a deep voice,
“I am home.”
I was “walking like a demon,” (she said)
Through darkness, past pain and detractors,
Carrying seemingly weightless packs upon my back.
I was as a demon, possessed, at home, in the woods in the mountains in the night.
“Black as a pit from pole to pole,”
I knew my place, from whence I came and was-not caring where I was going.
I felt at home, a being looking up from the dark side of the Earth to the heavens,
Blinded on both sides by the unknowns of the wilderness- preserved.
(The above was inserted in an edit, if you're going to procrastinate, you might as well have something to show for it.)
I suppose, of any poetic work, despite my own works and those that have been given to me by people I know or have otherwise could have known (from lit mags)...and despite any sort of class material over the years, Invictus -by William Ernest Henley, has had the greatest impact on my psyche, and it has probably had the greatest impact on my writing style, at least the early stages, as well.
While the work has been paraphrased in court by our very own Eric Rudolph (I wonder if he was in Huntsville for that one, or wait...didn't they grant a move of venue...again? I don't recall) and used in a final "communique" by McVeigh before his execution...this is probably the one poetic work I want in full, or partially quoted, on my tombstone. Sure...I'd prefer to write my own epitaph, and probably will...but I at least don't want anyone kind enough to visit my grave/remains/marker or memorial of some kind (presuming I get anything of the sort), to at least know that if I wrote poetry, if I kept up my integrity, will and some level of drive in my life, and if I got somewhere that may be important to them...that Invictus was the proverbial kick start. I don't believe it was the FIRST poem I ever read, but it was the first poem I was unable to forget reading. I actually DO have it fully memorized still, I have since middle school- and if anyone today was to claim that such would be bad, or because of some homegrown terrorist's influence or tribute to heathens, charlatans, jingoists or what have you...then I would very much like to remind them who William Ernest Henley was, and what he suffered. (Detractors should try getting their education in a hospital, losing a leg to the incompetence of the doctors in your area, have people tell you that if you're going to keep being alive, you have to lose the other one- seriously thank Joseph Lister for 30 years added of life. Nevermind starting off being potentially lethally ill at 12, and fairly well impoverished before that.)
Arguably, with the greatest hardships come the greatest opportunities.
As there "are no obstacles...only challenges." (I picked that one up from the Groove Soundtrack, don't ask me who actually said it right now.)
Suffice to say, I am, and was, inspired- even in some degrees it seems I may have channeled- by Henley, or at least his style and remaining literary persona. I would and probably should endeavour to be more like him, though perhaps less...I don't know...bitter? I have not had his hardships. I have had my own, and by today's standards they may be considered hardships, but I would not say I have lost anything like my left leg (below the knee) and nearly my right or my first and only born (I've yet to have any and am in no rush to get to that).
I owe my forebears this: That I master MY language. I do not mean THE English language, though I have every intent to defend it and make it my tool for survival and success. (Call me Anglophile, but spare me an Imperialist label.)
I may now be an anthropologist and wanna-be activist and intellectual, but I was a poet first, a photographer second and a person before any of that (one who watched people in preference to speak to them).
I suppose my marching order is a little different these days, I take turns wearing the different hats. I would like to be a photographer AND a poet at the same time, but if my skillset will serve me in years to come, I will have to keep the artist and the anthropologist (or even the journalist) in me...mutually exclusive? I suppose we will see. I do not feel that I will have to specialize more than is necessary, and I do not feel I have to sacrifice some part of my humanity and spiritualism to be a social scientist or an "impartial observer."
I have a social conscience, it just isn't quite organized the same as some peoples'.
Anyway, I slacked my thirst for Henley's works by downloading 17 of his poems in an E-Book. Woot. Very much free, very much freely provided via the "internet."
"I will use this 'internet' though I do not trust it." (paraphrase from the quiz that follows)
Semi-obligatory quiz posting:
WilliamSinister, you're now logged in!
Below you'll find your test result. After, continue on to your
homescreen to discover what we're about.
continue to OkCupid homescreen >
The Romantic
It's hard to be a true Romanticist, in these difficult times, but you have definite Romantic inclinations. Try as you might, you can't turn your back on the world of emotion and imagination. You feel stifled by the soulless, consumeristic, mass-produced society you find yourself in. You yearn for some form of wild, dangerous beauty in your life. Keep looking, and you might find it.
My test tracked 1 variable How you compared to other people your age and gender:
You scored higher than 94% on Romanticism
Link: The Romanticism Test written by johnnyampersand on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test
To end, what I figure is Henley's most Romantic poem (in a more modern sense I suppose):
Between the Dusk of a Summer Night
Between the dusk of a summer night
And the dawn of a summer day,
We caught at a mood as it passed in flight,
And we bade it stoop and stay.
And what with the dawn of night began
With the dusk of day was done;
For that is the way of woman and man,
When a hazard has made them one.
Arc upon arc, from shade to shine,
The World went thundering free;
And what was his errand but hers and mine --
The lords of him, I and she?
O, it's die we must, but it's live we can,
And the marvel of earth and sun
Is all for the joy of woman and man
And the longing that makes them one.
William Ernest Henley
It speaks to me, the me that was and the me that wants to be born anew.
I don't feel I'll find such rebirth here.
This is Purgatorio, while I am in search of Paradisio. (I need to read BOTH of those books translated by Ciardi, but I also have a new translation of the Inferno complete with Italian to compare it with.)
We are nothing if we know not our past, but we must be able to move toward a future, whether it is foreseable or not.