…of The Forum
…of The Forum
How far is interoperability achievable between repositories of such diverse types – whose interfaces are at times, disclosed? To what extent do we make an attempt to understand a poet’s poetical purpose, engaged as we are, ex animo, in the vocabularies of other voices inside our head. The abundance of personalities is overwhelming. Listen to the diversity of articulation in the poet on the page as each incisive image is juxtaposed one onto another. In painting each image, the imagination is brought to life. Various responsibilities of witness to informant, and vice versa, arise as we dwell in the poems possibility. Perhaps dreams are renewable within the untapped potential of each new thought – to listen is to try to hear; to hear is simply to perceive. As we mine these repositories of thought, we gain an improved understanding. Words become meaningful everywhere and everywhere give rise to a steep, almost vertical slope of an ogive of thought. And everything you thought you knew becomes fair game and the sky becomes not even a limit. I see so much of them (the poet) in me and I in them. Isn’t it amazing to experience, though ever so slightly, what's on each others minds?
Last edited by carm on Tue Jan 26, 2010 3:19 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: …of The Forum
Forgive me if I'm off base with this first line - This makes me think of our computers that we are filtering our human emotional responses through. It's interesting communicating and connecting to each other this was as all we have are printed letters.How far is interoperability achievable between repositories of such diverse types – whose interfaces are at times, disclosed?
I was going to ask what animo meant but I got it once I looked it up as ex animo
Re: …of The Forum
You're right, carm. It's a challenge and it's a reward. Daunting and fulfilling.
~ Lizzy
~ Lizzy
"Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken."
~ Oscar Wilde
~ Oscar Wilde
Re: …of The Forum
Cate…thanks for the comment:
Here's a little more:
As we generously endeavour to allow access by means of a passage, to the contents of our own introspections, components of various thoughts and ideas are grasped, imagined, perceived, conceived within each exchange or transfer. Collaborations within this such network offer not only unique perspectives but also unexpected, pleasureable moments of insight. If we take pause between the words and acknowledge the power they address, a consistent sense of gratitude is cultivated from each well-turned phrase.
Words openly offered, arouse streams of awareness, musings and dialogue as a voice submits to what is known and felt. Composed in this landscape, catalysts with endless variations of understandings are exposed. Such is the elegance of this enjoyable network of complex, sometimes subtle ideologies. In its endlessness, we feel compelled to frequent this port, yet again and again as different expressions and enthusiasms graciously connect.
“…tis from the bitter searching of the heart, quickened with passion and with pain that we rise to play a greater part…”
Here's a little more:
As we generously endeavour to allow access by means of a passage, to the contents of our own introspections, components of various thoughts and ideas are grasped, imagined, perceived, conceived within each exchange or transfer. Collaborations within this such network offer not only unique perspectives but also unexpected, pleasureable moments of insight. If we take pause between the words and acknowledge the power they address, a consistent sense of gratitude is cultivated from each well-turned phrase.
Words openly offered, arouse streams of awareness, musings and dialogue as a voice submits to what is known and felt. Composed in this landscape, catalysts with endless variations of understandings are exposed. Such is the elegance of this enjoyable network of complex, sometimes subtle ideologies. In its endlessness, we feel compelled to frequent this port, yet again and again as different expressions and enthusiasms graciously connect.
“…tis from the bitter searching of the heart, quickened with passion and with pain that we rise to play a greater part…”