Writer’s Edge

The strike of keys to paper replaced now
by snapping buttons on white screens;
still the thoughts stream onto glass
which fractures in the light of reason;
all the comely hues of morning, dawning
of ideas as horizons, split into infinity.

27 thoughts on “Writer’s Edge

  1. Beautifully written Bela, and before keys there was only the scratch of quill on parchment, stylo on wax, charcoal on cave wall, fingers in sand . . . on it goes to infinity in either direction. ❀

    – Esme waving her dipping pen in the moonlight at Bela upon the Cloud

    1. ‘Tis true, dear esme, though I tried to limit the scope within the framework of my own lifetime πŸ˜‰ HA! I DID own a set of quill pens, by the bye, and DID have a stock of parchment paper. BUT since moving to Hawaii and since the weather disintegrates any sort of paper over a very short time, I tossed the box of rusty quill tips and beigey-moldy parchment. Sad, that. Kisses. ❀

  2. Absolutely lovely write, Bela. This is how so many of us write these days, fingers striking the keyboard, minds transposed onto screen and reflected right back into our eyes and right into our minds and heart once again…a quick way of letting us feel what we feel and maybe see ourselves for who we are. ‘fractures in the light of reason’ This line reminds me how we are all so imperfect even in the happiest of times. That is just the way how we all are, imperfect in our own ways but so unique. Wishing you a beautiful day ahead πŸ™‚ ❀

    1. Mabel, I love your reiteration of my words. You always have a brilliantly incisive take with most anything I’ve seen you comment on. Lovely how you interpreted ‘fractures in the light of reason’ especially, for even my own meaning was unclear when I penned the poem. For reason can get a person only so far before the right brain insists on interjecting something creative, something not wholly (in)formed. In Jungian Psych, this archetypal force is referred to as the Trickster, and I think it’s always afoot if we are to remain nimble on our toes, open to discovering until the day we die.

      Blessings to you, Ms. Mabel – wishing you the same wondrous day ahead of You! ❀

      1. ‘fractures in the light of reason’ This actually reminded me of this lyric by Florence and the Machine: ‘fractured moonlight on the sea’. Light is so welcoming, yet where it falls it casts a shadow…hence I thought along the lines how not every ray of light embodies what we hope. Wise words and thoughts as always, Bela. Thank you for making me see a revelation ❀

  3. Maybe one of the strengths and beauties of poetry, when focusing on pure imagery, is that somehow the thoughts aren’t sort of stillborn, like rationalised thoughts are? When I think of something rationally, meaning when I verbalise it in my head or write it down, it’s already dead β€” I’ve had the thought (or rather the thought has had its life) prior to its verbal or written exposition. Yet with poetry the thought as presented transmutes into something else, neither the ghost of itself nor necessarily any offspring. I suspect I’ve gone off on a tangent here! H ❀

    1. Aloha lovely man – I don’t know how ANYthing you share with me is anywhere near tangential. It’s always meaningful and helps me better understand my own creative process.

      I was just attempting to explain to Mabel how I view rationality – I think if we are open something else, let’s call it right brain activity, shifts in to counter the stasis of the strictly rational. Einstein was a perfect example of this, taking a brilliant rational mind and infusing it with numinosity, lending genius to his discoveries. And you are right – the spark of thought or inspiration, once so alive and vibrant, is quicksilver when one tries to capture words to describe it – this is, I think, the huge challenge of any creative writer. So with poetry, I at least become lost in the ethers while the words appear as concepts on the page. Of course not every poem is as obscure as this one, but some are – even, at first, to me. No ghost, no offspring. I get it. πŸ™πŸ½πŸ™πŸ½πŸ™πŸ½πŸ’—

  4. Sometimes our thoughts do split into infinity and return in dreams, reminders remain dodgy till we decide to ponder and realize that they refuse to be called random, they challenge us to pen them down, in whatever form we choose…poetry germinates like that! Bela, your poems always remain obscure till the reader delves deeper to find the real pearls!

    1. Many thanks, Balroop, for the high praise. It’s so interesting how we all ingest these unseen prompts and how they then seek expression. It’s interesting how you describe the split returning in dreams. I wonder how many channels this then flows through in waking reality and how often it is dammed up. What it must take to hold back that kind of tide, and how that translates into frustrated creativity in the world. It might well be the root of so many of humanity’s problems. Food for thought, thanks for sharing these valuable insights. Aloha ❀

  5. It’s a struggle, really, to convert those creative ideas we’re proud of seeing in our heads into verse or prose. A brilliant piece can whet a reader’s appetite as opposed to wetting his whistle. And sparking somebody’s interest has to take a rationale that rides the wave of profound emotions. Writer’s Edge is powerful.

      1. I agree with that technicality, especially as a student of Jung. Yet some seem to arrive in this life with a little more wisdom, unusual from the get-go. Thus ‘old soul.’ I know a few πŸ˜‰ xo

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