“Beauty is a garble.” Beautiful.
LikeLiked by 2 people
I have aerogrammes my mother (who passed in 1994, all of which are of course in her elegant and crisp longhand – I’ll have to teach my children how to read them!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ha ! More “Layers”. A “Rubic’s cube” that will require more time to solve. Nice !
So wonderfully put. I learned calligraphy from my father and then in high school. It’s a lost art, and I’m sad to see it go.
Takes me back to the time I read “Bartleby the Scrivener.” I often wonder how one with such a job could survive today; I depend too much on my keyboard…:)
I love old books containing indelible, beautiful lines and thoughts from another age that I connect with in my own age. However, beauty still exists in the digital age and I see it in this poem and many other of your pieces that I’ve read. I’m going to remember the message of this one and make hard copies of my work. Nothing can replace the solid experience of see, feel, touch, and hold. Most artists I know don’t really care about personal fame but we all hope to create something containing the kind of truth that transcends generations.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Reblogged this on Pilgrimage and commented:
As a young man, I coveted a fine fountain pen. Alas, no more
I still do first drafts of poems and essays and write in my journal by hand, and know some other writers who do the same. It’s more sensual somehow. We all need all the sensuality we can get, yes? Not to mention it’s easier on the eyes. (Your poem is so good it scared me.)
Nice. I was just teaching my 7 yr old how to write cursive. Not sure if they do that in schools anymore or not, we used to sit in little desks with fountain pens and bottles of blue ink, refilling the pens every so often, sometimes spilling the whole bottle of ink on the white uniform cuffs, and practicing practicing practicing pages of cursive penmanship. No erasers even, or whiteout. You make a mistake, and have to redo the whole page!
Thanks for bringing back memories with this beautiful flowing poem, which, like cursive ink pen, glides without spaces.
Always in flux, indeed, a gorgeous recycling of old into new, Elan. Clapping the erasers was my daily “job” in 3rd grade btw; I loved making dust clouds and beating chalk patterns against the red brick of the school building. Kids today don’t know what they’re missing.
Cough, cough. I miss it too. What a strange thing to miss, don’t you think? Endearing, though. Time captured through the sensation of chalk fluttering in the air all around us.
That would be a sad day indeed. Perhaps writing will become an art form – wait, it already is: calligraphy. Now that is something I wish I could do.
I write letters. Most of them are handwritten in ink. And my writing tends to skew between cursive and print!
That’s awesome! I write with a pen all day at work. We have no computers. But then, I guess one of the questions I’m asking in the poem is: Have we lost the ability to throw things away? I mean, as an artist, if you feel you need to crumple up a piece of paper that has an unfinished poem on it, then it would be lost for all time. Now, since most of us write things using software and apps, even if you think you’ve thrown something away, it never really ever goes away. What if we were to look at the discards of the greatest writing, speeches,poems of all time and find something we don’t like in them? Of course, that would change our opinion and create an entire set of new perspectives. That’s the world we live in today.
I did see that in your words. I think of that when I do my journaling on the laptop. NO ONE will EVER get to see those and how much history will be lost. History as in generations hence. Or does it matter? Granted, some of the journals I’ve read over say things like: ‘planted wheat. It rained.’ ‘Rained again.’ ‘Today it rained.’ But every so often you will find a gem! (Aunt Dot did WHAT!!!!!) Rifling thru people’s pasts is fun. And today our pasts are online if we social media (and FB never lets us forget it!) or in hidden files. So much to wonder about.
Maybe Omar said it ??……..
“The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.”
― Omar Khayyám
This is truly a lovely piece, Elan! It makes me think – is poetry any better if penned the old way vs punched in on a keyboard? Do we lose some of the pure, raw sensitivity and emotion in simply deleting words in a draft, rtaher than cancelling and rewriting them?
Reblogged this on wwwpalfitness.
Pingback: Make Sure To Save | SITCOM GIRL
“Every mistake will have its own voice” – so beautiful; how do you make the simple so beautiful? Thank you for making me feel less guilty about the scraps of paper filled with my hurried scrawls when I get that familiar ‘surge’ from the Muse!
Do Muses make mistakes?
My Muse replied, but in the wrong comment box!
Muses sometimes do things like that.
If they did, it would take the shape of something beautiful and unexpected.
Ooh, I really liked this! 🙂 Well written
Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:
You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change )
Connecting to %s
Notify me of new comments via email.
Notify me of new posts via email.
Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.
Join 29,304 other followers