Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Twisted Truth, Feeling Time

Twisted Truth is a poem of exile. I do feel that I am in exile. I used to feel victimized and now I do not. Instead I "know" that I chose exile in agreement somehow. Actually I believe I pressed the point against advice. But in all honesty, underneath my sophistication lies a bewilderment, and the first reaction beyond that is a kind of victimization, a singled out feeling, a heightened self consciousness. Here is one of the koans of my life path. I do not presume to somehow deny this inner state. Denial of it would be a kind of insanity. Instead I wish to find and work for peace with my situation. I am more or less gaining on it. If I succeed any time before I am finished here my life will have been a sufficient success.


Twisted Truth

When they revise it
Before my eyes, blue for red,
Green for pale yellow
And tell me lies, lies
And I know what happened then
But they go all, "What?"
All their innocence
As if I was all screwed up,
That's when I know it,
That I have never
Ever really been a part
Of this broken race.

January 25, 2009 3:02 PM


Many years ago we had friends who lived in Putney, Vermont. They lived in the most amazing apartment, a very old building that had settled. They lived upstairs. The supports had dropped away from their floor so that it bounced, and it settled not equally so that the floor sloped drastically in places. We came in fall for the turning. We drove all over, and saw all kinds of magical things. In the spirit of magic, here is a poetic reminiscence.

Feeling Time

You lived in Vermont
All those years ago, buried
Your family there,
East Something township
Or North, on some small river
And one fall I came
To see friends who lived
Next to that cemetary.

We came for the trees.
It was you I found,
You centered in the old plot
Amongst veterans
Of Revolution
And children who died of pox,
Mothers of despair,
Some of old age too.
Your family plot, and me
Just then starting out.

January 25, 2009 7:31 PM


  1. We must have been coming from a similar place today......relating very much to Twisted Truth...


  2. Your second poem reminded me of...
    >My favorite graveyard near where I used to live. I hiked up to it often, and in the fall sometimes there were Ruffed Grouse hiding behind the stones. Not much more startling than startling a bunch of ruffed grouse in a silent graveyard. :)

    and this is where my father's ashes will be. We used to have picnics here in the summer when I was young. Also quiet and beautiful.

    The first poem hits home. Especially the last lines (of course). Never been a part...never sure how to be a part...But maybe that is okay...

  3. Revisionist history - somehow this has become the story of my family, too. I wonder if each of us owns reality as much as the other? My sister's and my recollections of our home are so different...

    I love that in looking for the leaves, you found her. That was your "turning."

  4. On exile: doesn't everyone feel that way from time to time? (I know I sure as hell do.) But then, there's two sides to every coin: what some people call "strange" and "different", some people call "special" and "unique". Xenos, from the Greek, can mean a stranger, one not of your own, who you can fear (xenophobia). Or, it can mean the guest, the one you welcome in with hospitality as one who can teach you more about the world, so that both your horizons may expand.

    Being on this planet is a difficult path sometimes, but I think it's reassurances like that which make it bearable. :)

  5. {{{Michelle}}} I often feel like some people manipulate reality in order for it to come out right by sprinkling fairy dust on it. Where they get the fairy dust, I have no idea.

  6. Faith, thank you for sharing your pictures. I like the idea of visiting graveyards for picnics. That's a big deal in New Orleans as well.

    As for it being okay... That's a life work there. How do I keep my integrity as an "alien" and still fit in enough to survive and prosper?

  7. Karen, I find it remarkable that we each can believe our own bullshit so completely. That's why historians have a really difficult job if they really want to dig for some kind of "what really happened".

  8. Joseph, I completely agree with you. That's good theory. Living it on the ground with the messiness of things adds confusion to it. I have more than once felt an alienation so profound and terrifying that I thought I might die. That is a motivator that can lead to fairly strange choices.

    I am reminded of the gom jabbar test that the Bene Gesserit gave to Paul to test if he was a fully civilized human. If you can countermand your own frantic and panicked mind, you will live. (Dune)

    Or my friend who says, "It's a great life if you don't flinch."

  9. Somehow I think we all chose our own destinies. Its making peace with that knowledge that is the key.

    Plus I agree with the sentiment that history is never what it seems, all versions may be equally valid, based on who is relating it.


  10. SG - Yes, making peace is essential. Forgiveness. That is even more essential. What? The Hell does even more essential mean? Ain't it grand how we can say stuff that even sounds like it makes sense but doesn't??

    Making peace and forgiveness are each critical to living well.

  11. Ghost! Very nice. But I cannot believe it. There is more twist than truth, I fear. But I would never tell you I think like that, oh no, instead I will tell you how lovely is thy dwelling place. I know I see your heart. That's what I will say. I would never tell you of my fear. That wouldn't be wise. Trust me. The check is in the mail. I will respect you in the morning. I am twisting in the wind, gassy, a gassbag indeed.

  12. Yeah, I have to stop myself from spouting bull all the time. If I find that my sentiments are a bunch of it I try to cut it out. ;D


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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