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A VITAL NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

Ahem. [later note: thank you, Imaginary Friend, I borrowed the "ahem" from you.] It’s been brought to my attention by my REAL LIFE husband that I seem to no longer be a present participant in our lives (which he thought, or at least suspected, we’d been sharing). It seems that the battle of Good vs. Evil has overtaken my every waking, and even dreaming hour (of course, Violet’s obsession with correcting typos has also made my work here all the more challenging). But typos aside, the point is, I can no longer function in a normal and “present” capacity in my own REAL life thanks to the obviously addictive vibe at this Forum (so called, I have another word for it). I would add that my cat has been suffering as well.

For this reason, I may have to take a very REAL break from this site, most assuredly THIS THREAD, which, if taken objectively, and on the whole, shows an earnest and even spiritually inclined worker in the art of poetry (dedicated, of course, to the works of Leonard Cohen, as is befitting of this site) being corrupted, bit by bloody bit, until she is completely mortally and morally and of course spiritually compromised by the sinister forces at this site, most assuredly this poetry Forum.

Enter Lorca, The Obvious Center of All Despicableness in the Universe (or at least its fiercest representative), who (having hovered in the wait for years) saw Violet wavering, and was able to seize upon the opportunity to “attach” to her demonically… and well, you all know the rest of this tragedy, Violet waking up in cheap motel rooms (which you’d think, given her refined taste, would at least have been expensive).

Overall, this experience, or more generally, this particular Forum, has saddened me (or at least has added a good amount of saddening to the wash, as it were). I mean, here you have Evil, on the one side, embodied by the pathetic likes of Poppet and his precious MickeyO.LordTroll, both incapable of even bruising Lorca (who again, is The Obvious Center of All Despicableness in the Universe) (or at least its fiercest representative). On top of that (and I do mean on top), there’s that suspect coven of Wicked Women, so called, who, actually, I have some advice for: Manna and Cate especially, it’s time to turn up (Poppet’s beloved) gas on these overlord losers. Yes, you do have them trembling in the wake of your seductive and faintly evil powers, but really, they are there for the taking. Come on girls, total ravishment is in order, and anything less than that is beneath you.

Lastly, on the side of Good, there is Imaginary Friend, who, although in some very essential ways remains loyal to Violet, easily succumbs to the allure of human frailty.

Overall guys, this is just not going to be enough. On the side of Evil, you need way more steam if you ever think you’re gonna best the True Lord and Master of these Premises, Mr. Cohen, who, although acquainted with the dark side of thought and even matter, remains a great force for (yes, I register the cliché here) Good in the world (along with possessing a cunning sexual prowess and allure that has infiltrated and, well, let's face it, destroyed the heart and mind of many a good woman over the years) (ahem).

Meanwhile, on the side of Good as concerns this joint, aside from Imaginary Friend (that gender bending friend and literary instrument of non-conformity) (and who, as I’ve suggested already, was unable to be of much help here), there really seems to be almost NO hope at all for Violet, the sweet embodiment of all that might be or could have been if the world were not such a heinous rat trap. As to whether her beloved Leonard will ever come and save her (a fate that in itself might be somewhat questionable), we may never know… unless (once I get my husband under wraps… where are those ratchet straps…) I decide to come back and see…

So, that’s it guys. Oh, notice how, in this ghastly fight against Evil (or its mediocre imitation as here evidenced at this Forum), Violet’s poetry writing skills took a serious downturn. That’s how much sacrifice is required sometimes when the fate of the entire world (and possibly beyond) is in the offing. Oh wait, we're only talking about this crappy Forum (so called)... okay, well, never mind...

In any event, if you would like to work on Violet’s last poem while she's gone, I’m sure she would appreciate the effort. Lorca’s admonitions still hold, though, so you might want to work on it to her liking (if you know what’s… well, good for you…) [See Author's Addendum to Lorca's subsequent censoring of Violet's poem.]

Okay, with not much in the way of new wisdom, and a renewed disappointment in mankind in general, until we do battle again,

The Author of This Thread (and others), a.k.a., “Violet”


[as per these accumulating edits, Violet is still obviously obsessing with "perfection"...][are there meds for this?]

(NEAR) FINAL NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

For those of you who might have read it, I've erased this post, as I'm in much more of a tired, humbled, and contrite mood, and am hoping that I can leave here with a small piece of self respect, if at all possible.

[much later edit: yes, I'm back after all this time. Some of this is fun to re-read, but I do get "feverish," at times.. so.. thought I'd snip this bit] [I seem to be repeating myself, at any rate]

Hi Violet.

"You think too much;
clever men and grocers,
they weigh everything." Zorba.

Dear Mat,

Although I don’t recall all that much about Anthony Quinn’s portrayal of Zorba (where did Zorba stand on the stoning to death of that woman, by the way?), I have already acknowledged my “feverishness,” and so I agree that some slowing down in the thinking department is probably in order. However, thinking too much is one thing, but aligning that with clever men and grocers and in the manner that I believe is here intended I don't believe to be applicable. If anything, I have exhibited the opposite tendency, which is to loosen the reins and allow myself to go places that maybe not all of me is too anxious for me to go to. This is not at all the grubby, measured province of clever men and grocers, whose need to quantify everything would, in fact, preclude the unfettered launch toward the Unknowable that I aspire to as a writer of poetry, or even as the writer of the more unclassifiable material that this thread has come to in some manner represent. [??]

In any event, I do know that, generally speaking, my feverishness is apt to undermine me in this writing process, and so I will give what I believe to be your true criticism (in your using the above quote) further consideration.

I therefore thank you, Mat, for your input on this.

The Author

[much later edit: just trimming some of this, as I do tend to repeat myself] [sigh]

Hi Violet,
No criticisms meant.
The "still centre" seems to be what you are after.
Calming the mind is almost as tough as calming the sea.

"clever men and grocers,
they weigh everything"..............to me it suggests that what we are seeking has little to do with being clever or, say, utilitarian. It is something else. It is the prize worth striving for. Zorba has the propensity to lose himself in the magic and beauty of some special moment, like a whirling dervish's spin into the mystic.
(I think the author, Katzantzakis, must have been a big fan of the Sufis.) Maybe your “feverishness,” will spin you to a similar place.
Good luck.

As for "Zorba", go to your local second-hand bookstore and pick up a copy of the book. It is such a great read.
By the way; Zorba defended the woman, when no one else would.

Mat

With thanks
to Mat,
all's well.
And 'frail humans'
such as I,
who have learned
that discretion
is the better part
of valor,
(especially around
poets and poppets)
are relieved
to be relieved
of their burden.
Phew.

Now Violet
can go back
to writing poems.
and I
can go back
to (happily)
enjoying them.
Violet's husband
will go back
to adoring her,
and mine
will get
his dinner on time
tonight
for once.

One last
word:
I've met
both Manna
and Cate,
and they
should be ashamed
of themselves
for being that smart,
and cute,
and young,
as well.
Isn't there
some bloody
law against that?
Mat?

Hi Imaginary Friend, I didn't see your lovely comments until after I wrote the following (below)... I'm glad all is seeming well with the world (or at least for now)... you've painted such a heart warming picture (with the exception of those too young damsels)!
v.

Hi again, Mat,

So, you've brought up the matter of stillness, and of losing oneself. As for the latter, I like the analogy of the whirling dervishes. I don't know all that much about it, but have read that there is a very specific principle involved in their spinning that truly is transporting (and, in another time and place, may well have had an inter-dimensional utilization). For the writer's purposes, and in terms of this, there is the combination of knowledge astride release from thinking, with poetry seemingly the literary practice that truly allows us to utilize both... Who's to say, perhaps (pen in hand), when stuck in stifling knowns, we all should "spin" for a while...

Thanks for recommending the book, and for your thoughts,

Violet

they
should be ashamed
of themselves
for being that smart,
and cute,
and young,
as well.
Isn't there
some bloody
law against that?
Mat?

I hope not. It is such an alluring package.

Oh Mat. I was SURE you'd agree on the existence of that law.

MEANWHILE...

It was late. Violet couldn’t sleep. She was back in New York again patching up what was left of her marriage after her mysterious and unexpected trip. She looked through her file of old poetry, thinking to find some clues as to who she might really be, since of late, she’d been feeling ungrounded, uncentered... This poem in particular spoke to her, perhaps because its sadness seems tinged with some hope...



In ruins


Cattails through the marsh plumes
signaled an imbalance; of that
my mother was
certain

and we grew accordingly,

for the love of her, for the
wanting.

just as small hands don’t
know of such things

and harm gets done, and no
revenge taken.


But the sound flowed under
Red Bridge

its paint gone even then, its danger
with it –– though only to us

children, whose fearlessness knew
no end

just as time knows better, and
we adults

lie fearful before
the void:

awaiting wholeness.



(Small hope in wondrous
things; small hope

clinging to madness, to
the wounds there

once forsaken.)



I don’t know why this should come
to me now

who is it
that reads into the night?

that follows the swords of child’s play

touching the void

loving the indigent, the lost within
us

keeping close the
sacred

not falling for the harm
done


2004

Dear Imaginary friend,

No wonder you get to be on the good side, you’re so lovely and so nice. One small thing though. You shouldn’t have mentioned that you met both Manna and I. You see Michey_one might piece together that Manna and I have already met. And that will shatter his romantic fantasy of the two of us being wed on line, but destined never to meet. As you know m_one is very mushy and loves a good wedding, I hate to spoil his fantasy.

-------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Author

I lost interest in your story pretty early on and just started skimming, but I liked the poem so I went back. All in all, the stories not bad. Making the reader part of the story is a fun idea and I like your main character. Violets sweet and she knows how to use ratchet straps!!! Now that’s a package (well except for the possessed thing). Her character seems believable enough, at the beginning of the thread I felt bad for her, mind you there is the smallest possibility that I am a bit gullible.


To Violet, in reference to your above poem.

I like this poem. So many good lines.

Cattails through the marsh plumes
signaled an imbalance; of that
my mother was
certain


This sounds great, feels great to say, all those soft s’s. The visual image is great, I can see those courageous cattails holding some ground against those beautiful but dangerous marsh plumes.

But the sound flowed under
The first couple of times I read this, I read the sound flowered under. I don't really have anything to say about that, I just thought I'd share.

its paint gone even then, its danger
with it –– though only to us

I like this, how it's phrased.

oops it's late, I'm tired, I better go before I turn into a pumpkin.

Cate,

You were a vital part of this story that emerged spontaneously from what was going to be "just another post" with a poem starting it off! What happened to the fun here? You and Manna were essential! Please, don't go sour pus "school marm" on me, when I've had nothing but admiration for you two!

Anyway, just to let you know, none of what happened with this thread was calculated. It just started happening, I went with it (got over-involved with it, admittedly so, etc.) Actually, I'd already been thinking about writing about the differing identities that started to emerge, hoping to clarify things... Violet is partly me, and partly this character that emerged, or perhaps what I mean is that this fictional character is very much a part of me nonetheless. Lorca is me having a great deal of fun being despicable. The Author came about as a way to distinguish between Violet the character and Violet the author of the character. Anyway, I still sign as Violet for the most part, so I guess it's just a matter of context indicating which Violet I mean. Having Violet the character be the author of "my" poem starts to blur things I guess, but this is blurry business, it seems...

Well, I agree, it's late -- but please, lighten up -- I mean that's how this all started to begin with, when R.P. exploded some unpleasant gas into the room -- and all I was trying to do was to write some poems (very earnestly, I might add)! Just read the beginning of the thread and you'll see. It took me a while to catch on, then you gals showed up, introduced your "characters" as it were (I was both delighted and in awe of you two when you did that, by the way), and things went from there. Actually, I thought you guys were indoctrinating me, but now it seems I've displeased you... If I knew how to work the smilie faces I'd give you a real sad one right now... Maybe the Poppet will show me how to do that in his private den...

Okay, I too am tired... but I do hope I've shed some light on this, and that you can forgive me where it is you believe that I've transgressed --
Violet

You're up awfully late for being tired earlier. Don't stress, Violet.

Blessed is He that cometh in the name of the Lord, is how it goes.

Casey

Dear Violetish person,

Forgive you?
Sure, no problem.

For the things you have ever done wrong,... I forgive you.

Okay, now you do me.

what happened to the fun?

Umm - well...you got kinda weird, I wasn't sure what you were doing but you seemed to be heading away from playful towards towards possibly angry or mean. Plus, you seemed to be having fun by yourself.
Now that I can see the story line it makes more sense. (Only speaking for myself, Manna's cleverer and would have picked up on the story thing much earlier)

Please, don't go sour pus "school marm" on me, when I've had nothing but admiration for you two!

Quick note, Manna and I are not actually married yet, we're having some issues with internet polygamy laws, so it is perfectly acceptable, to refer to one of us without the other, especially if calling one of us a sour pus. I met somebody yesterday that introduced themselves to me as Pussy Willow - no kidding. It suited her, she was very low key and a bit melancholy.
What's a marm by the way?