This reads like rap, with sweet but simple lyrics. This is good. And it is anything but amateur.

Nice. I'm guessing that you are female right?

Ah. One more thing. I just re-read your answer to my last question.

Here is what you said when I asked you what was wrong with writing frankly in verse to state an intent or describe a situation:

somegirl:

A poem might be misunderstood.

Am I reading you right, or you have been misread? Every piece of writing is capable of being misunderstood. Even the Bible is misunderstood. This does not remove from the need of a people for spiritual guidance. A letter can be misunderstood. This does not remove from the need of two people to correspond. Even a simple word/statement can be misunderstood. That does not mean that we should all seal our mouths with paper tape and stop talking to one another.

The fact that a poem MAY be misunderstood doesn't mean that one should stop writing them, or giving them to those who one thinks WOULD understand them. If it is addressed to one person, it is for him/her alone to see. All other witnesses to the contents only have themselves to blame for their misreadings/misunderstandings of the words. People like you. More than anything therefore, this imperative goes to re-inforces the poet's need to speak more in words exclusive to the knowing space between him (the poet) and his addressee (his love), especially when the message is one of privacy. It won't concern them if anyone else don't understand it. The better, actually.

What I meant to say of course was that the poem was written for someone you DO NOT know.

She is still my friend. We are still very much in touch. We still value and fancy each other's trust and friendship like we did then in 2001, and we still respect each other although like the poem forcasted, each of us have moved on. Like her, I still keep in mind the pain of a deeper relationship that could have been, but was not because of certain imperatives.

With this I have answered your last non-redundant question. The others have been answered in more or less detail in my earlier posts.

Finito(?)

What I meant to say of course was that the poem was written for someone you DO NOT know.

She is still my friend. We are still very much in touch. We still value and fancy each other's trust and friendship like we did then in 2001, and we still respect each other although like the poem forcasted, each of us have moved on. Like her, I still keep in mind the pain of a deeper relationship that could have been, but was not because of certain imperatives.

With this I have answered your last non-redundant question. The others have been answered in more or less detail in my earlier posts.

Finito(?)

You do NOT know who this poem was written for. And you may never know it.

I had made the last post twice in the hope that you may see it. I even highlighted the gray areas, took the pain, yet you didn't get it still, obviously. Alas the wonder of it.

Here is what you got wrong. None of the comments I made suggested that the poet-persona had a girlfriend before, during, or even after the poem was written. None even said the one to whom the poem was addressed was a girlfriend. The word *girlfriend* much less the implication of more than one of them was not even suggested anywhere in the present which the poem tried to portray. You brought it in. That was why I said you contradicted yourself when you brought it up, saying that:

somegirl:


---

If you say that it was "her" responsibility to understand from some hidden message in a poem that you already have a girlfriend, then you blame "her" for the resulting situation. (Emphasis mine)

---

Since you were the same person who said, in the same post thus:

somegirl:


In this poem, the first person narrator has broken up with his lover. It’s Valentine’s Day and he feels lonely. That’s why he remembers the good old days when he still was part of a twosome. She seems to feel the same and, since neither of them is in a new relationship yet, they decide to spend Valentine’s together, to make each other a gift (e.g. a little poem) or something alike, pretending for one day that they still were in love with each other but both of them knowing that it is just a fantasy, that, now, they are singles and that, one day, they each might have a new partner and new priorities.

---

Look again dear. I have highlighted the contradictions so you can see. There's nowhere in my post where I have said anything capable of corroborating that claim. But don't take my word for it, ask anyone else to read up the thread and offer some words of explanation. You never know with these things. But, really, when exactly did I say that I had another girlfriend, and that she should read that fact between the lines? No you didn't hear that from me. What I said was that the poem was a personal narrative of a situation. And it was addressed to a personality who on receiving it was able to read the meaning of the poem correctly. I knew this. Don't ask me how.

Now to you, when I say "read between the lines", I don't mean that you should take the liberty to deliberately invent/insert events not expressed within the confines of the poem. That would be reading *outside* the lines. I said read *between*. If you invent another fact *outside* the poem, then you divert from the discussion of the poem, and you should do that on another thread.

If you think that artists are generally bad lovers, then make a scientific survey, asking questions from victims of their *bad* love, and create a graph. Individual cases are at best presumptious. That's why I said it's not mine to refute, notwithstanding what anyone says on the internet.

So in all your three questions, only one now seemed non-redundant - the first one - and I intend to answer it in another breath since you appear sufficiently curious. But first, let's allow you to get this one in first. Apparently there're much more angles to this poem still to explore.

Now a question for you. When one of two people (more or less) in love/besotted with (aspects of) each other decides to present his partner with such a poem as Valentine Fantasy on Valentine's day in which he honestly/correctly/frankly assesses their predicament while making no hasty presumptions whatsoever, what is wrong with it?

Here's the quote badly displayed earlier:

somegirl

link=topic=19812.msg592610#msg592610 date=1157470609:


In this poem, the first person narrator has broken up

with his lover. It’s Valentine’s Day and he feels

lonely. That’s why he remembers the good old days when

he still was part of a twosome. She seems to feel the

same and, since neither of them is in a new relationship

yet, they decide to spend Valentine’s together, to make

each other a gift (e.g. a little poem) or something

alike, pretending for one day that they still were in

love with each other but both of them knowing that it is

just a fantasy, that, now, they are singles and that,

one day, they each might have a new partner and new

priorities.
---

Hope you get it.

Ok, here I am after some days of diconnection with this blogosphere, no thanks to the little spyware I discovered in my computer some days ago. That is why my compact response earlier typed got lost. I am at the cybercafe, and my flashdisk only shows boxes where files have once been.

@Somegirl.
Hmmm! We agree here. I agree with your interpretation of the poem which you wrote thusly:

somegirl:


In this poem, the first person narrator has broken up with his lover. It’s Valentine’s Day and he feels lonely. That’s why he remembers the good old days when he still was part of a twosome. She seems to feel the same and, since neither of them is in a new relationship yet, they decide to spend Valentine’s together, to make each other a gift (e.g. a little poem) or something alike, pretending for one day that they still were in love with each other but both of them knowing that it is just a fantasy, that, now, they are singles and that, one day, they each might have a new partner and new priorities.

---

But unlike you suggested above, they had not "broken up". They just were not in a defined relationship even though they wished/hoped/fantasised that they were, and still gave themselves some amount of pretense to that premise.

I winced however at the contradictions in the later parts of the post when you said:

somegirl:

---
If you say that it was "her" responsibility to understand from some hidden message in a poem that you already have a girlfriend, then you blame "her" for the resulting situation.
---

The emphasis is mine. No where in the poem would you find words to justify your claim. That is why I said that you got it right only that first time. Read again your interpretation. I repeat it here with the main parts coloured to illuminate the contradictions even in your submission:

In this poem, the first person narrator has broken up with his lover. It’s Valentine’s Day and he feels lonely. That’s why he remembers the good old days when he still was part of a twosome. She seems to feel the same and, since neither of them is in a new relationship yet[/i], they decide to spend Valentine’s together, to make each other a gift (e.g. a little poem) or something alike, pretending for one day that they still were in love with each other but both of them knowing that it is just a fantasy, that, now, [i]they are singles[/color] and that, one day, they each might have a new partner and new priorities[color=#006600].

So where did you get that from?

For the last part of your comments, I will not take it as mine to scoff or to refute. The world is large enough for us to find archetypes/abberations with which to smear/generalise a group of people. The question is really whether it is in anyone's best interest to do so.

Cheers all.

The complete version of the poem is online, here: http://farafina.dbweb.ee/?issue=9&category_id=26&article_id=178

KT

Alright. Here are some background info, pretending to be a translation of my earlier post. This, finally so as to give others a chance to comment.

1. I wrote the poem on the eve of St. Valentine's day of 2001 (or 2002. I'm not sure, but I'll vote for 2001.)

2 .I wrote it because I was confused. And a little depressed at my situation, so much so that I could not think of anything better to do than embark on a frank assessment of where I had got myself into. I sat down and wrote. The whole sonnet, plus the title, came in a flash and was finished in an instant - less than 20 minutes - which still convinces me when I look back today, that the thoughts had definitely lingered in my head for far longer than my consciousness would  readily acknowledge.

3. Now coming to the text of my last post, Somegirl, I have used the word "muse" only in a most literal sense. It is not figurative of any person/personas recognisable, much less within the work. It's muse as in *the Muse*.

4. I have not "laid the blame" on anyone. We really shouldn't. It is already a grieving personal narrative if you would only read between the lines and see it as such.


Ok now, oya! Over to the house. I think I've talked enough to feed a multitude. Time now  to read what others think about this bottle of panadol. Kai, my head!

Curious comments, Somegirl!

While this poem, Valentine Fantasy does not pretend to be innocent, or to have been a result of some innocent process, it has tried at best to be honest. It doesn't even pretend to be a "love" poem as an honest appraisal of the present. It is not "toying" with feelings. It is only expressing the obvious. In defence of the subtly indicted muse, here are my comments:

One. The poem is not only very personal, it is a private appraisal of a situation and doesn't really need corroboration from the other voice. At least not in the same breath. It seeks mainly to explain back to itself what it genuinely feels, and hopes to be seen as open and honest about it. Now whether the situation warranting the "sculpting" could be made different is entirely a different issue, separate from the very private confession that alas happens to have also been directed then at the object of such contemplation. It was *her* responsibility as well to read between the lines. In this case, she knew, and she did.

,

somegirl:



Can we be sure that this "transient game" will cease once "she" steps in?

In your post, you have asked the above, but you have curiously ignored the "he" that same line. You shouldn't. By the way, the question is rhetoric. In creating the piece, I have tried to be at best descriptive and not prescriptive, thus divesting myself of any pretensions to omnipotence.

You write well. I love this.

Hmm!

That's possible, isnt it? But I guess the poet-persona is more content with the uncertainty, than with a future hope that *may* or *may not* materialise. You know what they say: "Blessed are those who do not hope, for they shall not be disappointed."

1. Because it is a *fantasy*
2. Because *they both know* it is a fantasy
3. Because that's the way it is. And, (edited), not all fantasies come true.

It is *their* fantasy.

It's fantasy, remember? If one can help it then there'll be no need for the poem then, abi?

I’d rather be cut by the grinding teeth
Of the clipper than be burnt
By the dryer’s version of hell.

I’d rather continually labour Day and night
For a family than just for some days
After nine months of burden.

I’d rather be coarse, broad
As a mahogany, than be tender,
Feeble and soft as a rose.

I’d rather be rough and enduring
As giant grasses than be freshened
With the transient beauty of the rose

I’d rather be so ugly as to bare
My broadly muscled thorax for air
Than with strange cloths be cupped.

I’d rather be able to sit as I like,
With legs often apart, as I wish,
Than be constrained by prying eyes.

I’d rather be able to say my mind.
I’d rather be bold to tell whomever I love
Than wait for them and then “think about it.”

I’d rather be dull but natural
Than placed under daily masks -
Of shaded lines in coloured hues.

I’d rather be made first, as original;
And not a duplicate from a bone
Out of several tens of such.

I’d rather keep my chains on pet cat
Or wild dog than wear them - remnants
of Aaron’s dead altar and White human trade.

I’d rather pump than be pumped (to a bulge).
I’d rather love whomever than be chased.
I’d rather be the man than be his lost rib.

There are a few more online that you might like if you care to look. Look here: http://www.poemhunter.com/p/m/poem.asp?poem=0&poet=64814&num=2

and here:
http://www.poemhunter.com/p/m/poem.asp?poem=0&poet=64814&num=3

Cheers all

CREATION STORY

On a dark day on pristine plane
Saunters a whole black mass, stale stain.
Mercurial, and swift like the bendable,
A planet dangles afar like a faltering cable.

A slimy ageing mess of eternal matter
crawls slowly down as on a glass of boiling water,
Gently too, like crystal teardrops from wounded eyes,
and raw seepages from sweaty mass of ice.

A soul - a spirit - lay spread in affluent stupor
With formless limbs astride a sightless moor,
On wandering heights, and deep down valleyways,
The form moves out in countless heaps and rays.

Countless frail moments trudge right on its fluid face
With minimal ends, like a bland shapeless place.
Yet in rough and tough, dark clefts of plain skies
A ton of love and life, and fondness flies.

Then moved the energy from within a bubbling speech
With boiling strength in exceedingly great pitch.
With request for light comes a great and lasting sight -
Bright new day sighs, and there was light.


VALENTINE FANTASY
 
This day reminds of memories of old,
Of words and thoughts and works and tugs of war
It brings back sighs of days of heat and cold
And days we stared and wondered what was more.
The pristine wind brings back your specless face
Adorned in hues and shades of innocence
With thunderclap I see that smile of grace
That went with us under the public lens.
But then I stop to look behind and forth
Since now alone we know, and thus obey.
This transient game will one day gain its worth
When he or she steps in and we nod, “yea”
So till time grimly comes to draw the line,
Let me pretend to dream, and think you mine.

(c)  All rights reserved