Friday, 31 July 2009


So you tell me your name
but what do I know? I will
stick it to your face and,
just as I learn the map
of creases written there,
I might learn something of
the way your thoughts connect
and, given time, this too
becomes the word that's you.

But would you recognise
this one I know? A part,
perhaps, but not the whole.
(Same for me: I write,
you read. Proves nothing, but
it satisfies a need).

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Marshall-Stacks said...

You write,
I read.
"It proves nothing" ?
Au contraire,
It proves,
that we are doing it.

and you have 30 Followers, so you are doing it right. Don't stop.

Niamh B said...

Really like this - just the thing to cheer a friday morning. And yes you are doing it right, and yes it does satisfy a need.

Poetikat said...

"just as I learn the map
of creases written there"

I loved this line! We all have that feeling of inadequacy, I think. It's the ones who are all puffed up about themselves that I ignore.


The Weaver of Grass said...

We will never know how we look to other people (Rabbie Burns put it better, I know!) - we only see in others what we expect to see, I think - this is all a bit deep for me and i seem to be getting into deeper water.

Pure fiction said...

I keep re-reading the first four lines again - they leave a satisfying taste, if you know what I mean - a bit like the sharp taste you get after a sip of gin and lemon?

Lucy Corrander said...

I very much like this. I've read it several times in a row.

It leaves me with odd emotions though. The idea of sticking something to someone's face (I know it's a name but it still jars here) is harsh - whereas the rest of the poem is gentle . . . and gently humorous.

Of course, this discord (I want to say dis-syncopy but I've invented the word so you might not know what I mean) is why I had to read it several times. Am I meant to be left with the bitter twist?

I think Marshall-Stacks thought the ending was negative, resigned - but I took it as up-beat and positive. It connects the readers with the writer. And writing isn't about proving things. Nor do the number of readers really say anything about the quality (either way) of the writing.

I didn't, initially, think this poem was necessarily about blogging. I took it as a 'stand-alone'. However, if I do relate it to blogs . . . there are some bloggers who like to remain so enigmatic that, when people ask even the most unobtrusive things about them they say things like 'you see my photos, you know me'. Which, I think, is twaddle.


P.S. I think you know Weaver of Grass so I'm wondering if you could let her know I'm having awful trouble getting onto her blog - and when I do, I can't leave comments. Something seems to go wrong with the loading every time. I don't think others are having this problem but I would like her to know that I haven't stopped visiting because I don't appreciate what she has to say - but because of these technical difficulties which, I imagine, will resolve themselves in time.

Dominic Rivron said...

Thanks for these comments, everyone.

I'm pleased you all enjoyed it - and you've given me food for thought, which I appreciate. I'll not comment further, 'cause I don't want to influence the way people read it.