[I hesitate to post some poems because people can tend to get an impression from them that isn’t accurate and/or I don’t want to convey. But worrying about how people might interpret/judge what I write is incredibly stifling. Remember there’s a reason we call some things creative writing and not non-fiction. And perhaps both terms are misnomers on some level. There are elements of truth and fiction in everything. And we humans, despite our (sometimes) best intentions, are bound to misinterpret, filter, distort and/or only partially see or understand much (if not everything) we encounter. It amazes me how sometimes people write and tell me what my poems are about when even I don’t always know — or maybe I think I know, and later what I think I know changes. We see what we want to see in art. Often, as Adrienne Rich said, “Poems are like dreams: in them you put what you don’t know you know.” If the poet doesn’t know he or she knows, maybe the reader should hesitate before being so sure he or she knows. Often there are multiple meanings only some (or none) of us have considered. But I don’t think a poem has to be 100% factual to be “true.” And even if it is factual, it can be incomplete and even deceptive — like statistics. It’s not easy (if it’s possible at all), even in a book length poem, to show the reader every facet of everything. Imagination and educated guesses sometimes rescue us and other times lead us astray by filling in the blanks. And I don’t think you can fit total factual reality or “truth” into any one box — or poem.]
Stream of Con
A stream of con comes from her daughter
and she swills it down like cold cheap wine
on a 96 degree Elyria day before
dropping a shut the fuck up power play
on her husband whose one and half lines
every four hours or so are too many for her
and laughs aren’t many anymore in their household
which she’s essentially sold to the lowest bidder
the heaviest hitter or best bullshitter
the one in the family with a large litter of unwashed
kittens who’ve over and over lost their mittens
to their one and a half parents’ neglect and
overall lack of respect for anyone who cares
whether anyone cares.
Shush Nesc
Nescience,
shut up!
* * *
Most of the time I poet has no idea where the poem will end up. One might start writing a poem in one direction and it takes itself where it wants to go. Only the poem, itself, ever knows what its true meaning is:)
If poems are like dreams, sometimes like dreams the meaning is forgotten and the interpretation is hidden in the subconscious of the dreamer and the reader.
Your introductory discussion of fact vs. truth reminds me of Lauren Slater’s book “Lying: A Metaphorical Memoir.” Lauren is a memoirist, not a poet (although I find her prose poetic), but somehow this quote from her book seems relevant:”Everyone knows that a lot of memoirs have made-up scenes; it’s obvious. And everyone knows that half the time at least fictions contain literal autobiographical truths. So how do we decide what’s what, and does it even matter?” As a reader, I think it doesn’t matter. The poet gifts the poem to me, and the poem is what it is, but it’s never the poet.
Whether the facts in a poem are true or not is irrelevant. They are part of the scaffolding of what’s used to write the piece. We all take parts of fact and fantasy and weave them all together to create whether it’s a piece of art or a poem.I’ve written a few poems that have raised a stir and people have wondered if they are real. And I have to say “yes and no” they are true and at the same time nor real. Because they may have some facts in them but it is the feeling that’s conveyed that’s the truth in the poem not the whole poem. And as Heather has said.. more times than not for me.. a poem takes on a life of it’s own and tells it’s own story once I start. And I have little control over where it sometimes goes.Anyway.. I like how you’ve woven this one together… like the use of the kittens with mittens metaphor woven in it… very cleverly done as always.
John, love the poems. I wish that you didn’t feel like you were being judged by what you write or that maybe people would misunderstand something. The poem is what it is and it probably means something different to every person that reads it. Some of the things you say touch a cord in the reader that any sane person would know you could not have intended. I think that’s the beauty of poetry. We bring all of our personal feelings to the reading and sometimes it shines a light on something in the reader’s heart, by accident, not by design, but does that really matter? Is it not the greatest thing to be able to touch the heart of another human being?
I am touched by the little kittens who have lost their mittens! We adopt a lot of them around here.