I owe it all to you! May 6, 2013

 

  

Just when I have convinced myself I am no longer in the target area, she posts a poem like this, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why.

If her soul purpose is to destroy me, she already has all the ammunition she needs locked up in the desk of the outgoing public safety director.

It’s been months since I knowingly did anything to provoke her.

But like earlier poems in which she takes a swipe at me, this one is deeply masked in multiple meanings so that even I’m scratching my head as to why she would bother this late in the game, unless somewhere deep down she still blames me for derailing her train to success.

The open talks about why she writes – to create a world that makes more sense than that one people seem to think of as normal.

But it is clear others have lost touch with what is really normal, what is worth fighting for or “worth wording,” as she puts it.

Most people, she notes, lack the words or the sense to describe the world anyway, and so “I forge on with wors that fail,” and she is both confounded by and thankful for her inability to actually describe the “persistent absurdity” that is her way of life.

Here she make reference to her life as a writer, making a living writing about and describing, fighting to make her living (which is underpaid) and for those who are afraid, and gives thanks to the all mighty (or whomever it is she is supposed to be thankful to) for the opportunity to be all – and here we get the cheap shot at me (I think) “You’d hoped I wasn’t when you fought so hard to deny it, you made me thankful for whom I am.”

I am be wrong about this, but I don’t think I am since the poem’s title suggests she is directing the poem at another writer.

The poem is about her posting of poems in her effort to make sense of a world that really makes no sense, and for other normal people who have lost touch with what normal means or for that matter what is worth fighting for or even what poems should write about.

Most people do not have the poetic talent or even the vision to do what she is trying to do, and so she finds herself carrying on the good fight to try and describe the absurdity of her life, fighting for a life that is the rock upon which she stands (a religious metaphor perhaps – upon this rock I will built my church since she alludes to god in a few lines later).

It is possible that I am again reading into this poem a conversation that does not exist, and that this poem may well be part of the series of love poems, directed at her ex-lover and how hard she tried to explain in poetry what was going on her life, and how he became the inspiration for her to keep trying.

It is clear from the past many of those who read her work often misinterpreted what she was trying to say (including me at times). But I suspect, the poem is directed at me, a bit of mockery in thanking me to allowing her to become what I tried desperately (allegedly) to stop her from becoming.

If this is a true interpretation, then I was never really far off her radar scope, an idea that time heals all wounds and helps people forget may not be valid after all.

 

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