Thursday, July 3, 2008

poems about

Sometimes my Thinking Complex under my skull produces thoughts/ I should reject: haughty thoughts, silly thoughts, seedling thoughts. My tendency has been, however, to let such out. Not sure why, but fear it is a false need. Poems about. That is, poems which once existed or yet exist. Ten trillion? What got me into writing poems? This is a question I've repeatedly asked. This is a question I've repeatedly answered. Combining two major responses to this, one gets: Be a maker of poems/ only if you must. The point of this, I surmise, is that the making of poems should arise naturally from who you are. What about liking to hang around modes of communication, exploring the possibilities of them? Does this equate with/ arise naturally from who you are? Should one care? What got me into writing poems was my realizing I found it easier to work with words than with numbers. I did have a need to express myself; and I had tried painting, map making, building railroad layout scenery with wire and plaster of paris, wood burning, plain and colored sketchings. Why am I pondering this now? Topics related to it have been posted variously recently. Certain comments beneath those posts have been, to me at least, on the mark. Whether a poet is led by an idea (a predetermined aesthetic) or by a medium (the symbols being used) or by both, the fact of a willingness (deriving from the pleasures therein) to spend time crafting an artifact/ is reason enough. Whether the efforts expended come to something of value to others is, or should be, secondary. Making a thing as perfectly as that thing can be made should be primary. Matchsticks or words, or, or, or: it is what is done with them that falls or flies. At whatever point a maker is satisfied, a made thing sits and waits, an object in stasis. If no other sentient being ever interacts with it, its inherent worth does not change. If an other sentient being does interact with it, and praises or dissses it, its inherent worth does not change. Made things exist/ for their functionality. Made things exist/ for their lack of functionality. An accidentally made thing can be just as functional or non-functional, just as beautiful or ugly, as an intentionally made thing. What today gets high judgment marks, tomorrow may get low judgment marks; and whatever marks a made thing gets always depends on the aesthetic perspective of that sentient being who is judging. Humans have widely variant aesthetic perspectives. Robots? I do not know enough about them, or the possibilities about them. In writing this I thought of many others whose opinions I could have quoted or paraphrased, but I have purposely/ not done so. - Rho00106

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