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Look For The Chairman

Look for the chairman
the queen or the king;
behind mere name
you'll not find anything.

Tell me now who you are
and where you can be found;
Can I find you anywhere,
elusive clapping sound?

Like the chairman or the king
sitting on his throne,
one day every single thing
will turn to dust or stone.

Immortal now? You'll not die?
You'll never leave the stage?
Yes even you one day will fly
and leave your lonely cage.

I am the warden
the jailer too
the guards on the walls
who let nothing go through,

the invisible force field
I put in it's place,
and bounce up against it
playing with space,

my jail a hologram
and I am a phantom
my day is dream
but that's not what it seems

séan

I like this very much

Nice one Sean,
Reminds me of Death the Leveler by James Shirley, which I learnt off by heart in school!!

THE glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against Fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and Crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crookèd scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill:
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath
When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds!
Upon Death's purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds.
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb:
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.

The last two lines are
Oh So True

Séan

Nice to connect with you again, Jimmy

And I am glad you like the poem, Anunitu

Hmm, I just got the idea that maybe you wrote this after looking at pictures of dead leaders. Did you?

Look for the chairman
the queen or the king;
behind mere name
you'll not find anything.

To say there's nothing behind the names of these people dehumanizes them, if they're alive. Is that your intent? Maybe if they're dead too, I haven't thought it through enough to decide yet. Surely, Shirley points out that we all die, but he does it in a way that brings us all into the same boat, while my interpretation of your poem is that you want to rub death in the face of the chairman/king/queen.

ding dong, the...

I do think it's interesting against that backdrop to end up with death being a freedom. You make it compassionate that way. Unfortunately, fly-out-of-the-birdcage-to-freedom talk is uninteresting, at least to me. Uninteresting because the concept doesn't show me a new way to think about it. Can you show me freedom with something original? Let your mind go, force some random thought connections, like worm, light-switch, spoon, red sand, storm, photosynthesis - until something comes along that you can connect to meaning freedom. (Don't forget to connect your random thoughts: The worm yearned for the freedom embodied in the light switch - light upon whim. He wanted the freedom hands would give him to be able to wield a spoon and scoop red sand over the ceaseless trudge of eat and dig, eat and dig, eat... ) **

You did manage something at which I consistently fail, that being to write with rhymes.

Nice seeing you Sean. How are you?

** As an aside, this is why I think some have their best ideas as they're going to sleep. One of the things your brain does as you're heading off to dreamland is fire a few random neurons. If you're having trouble sleeping, try randomizing your thoughts. It helps!

Hi Manna

Thanks for your most interesting response.

Hmm, I just got the idea that maybe you wrote this after looking at pictures of dead leaders. Did you?

.........NO

I took your suggestion and did a bit of a word salad. This is completely against my principles, I might add. I was very helpful to come up with more verse. I see that if I spent a bit more time with it I might do a better job. I admire your creativity, playfulness and courage.

Your example, Manna is quite good:

The worm yearned for the freedom embodied in the light switch - light upon whim. He wanted the freedom hands would give him to be able to wield a spoon and scoop red sand over the ceaseless trudge of eat and dig, eat and dig, eat...

I tried to follow your helpful suggestions:

hologram wall
phantom clear
see dream illusion
ephemeral force field
reify


I am the warden
and the jailer too
the guards on the walls
who let nothing go through,

the invisible force field
I put in it's place,
and bounce up against it
playing with space,

my jail it is a hologram
and I am a phantom
my day is dream
but that's not what it seems



I apologize for giving the impression of being disrespectful or cruel to people in general, it certainly was not my intention.

Regarding the depersonalization, unfortunately we return to our ancient problematic difference of opinion (view). You see the depersonalization in my poem as an insult. I see 'personalization' as a crime as horrific as the average war crime. That is why we have different views.

You said: “To say there's nothing behind the names of these people dehumanizes them”. I am referring to what there is behind the names of these people in the mind of the observer. That, to me is a very interesting question that is rarely addressed.

There are two truths, the conventional truth and the ultimate truth. Take the chairman for example, we all need to have a 'chairman' or the committee doesn't work and there is much suffering and confusion and drama. So we appoint a chairman. We put the label 'chairman' on one member. From that moment the person's basis of imputation has changed, their behavior changes and the behavior of other group members changes towards the chairman. Our entire conventional reality is a system of labels. The ultimate truth with respect to the 'chairman' is that he does not exist, or he exists as mere name, or mere imputation, and is not findable.

My poem was about this view. The birdcage is a metaphor for the system of labels. When we die we are completely free from this conventional reality in an instant, and we fly somewhere (usually back into some other cage). We are expert cage-builders.

My view is Buddhist but even without Buddhism one can look in the English language dictionary and see this concept described clearly in the word 'reify' ... making 'real' something abstract. Chairmen are abstract. Persons are even more abstract. 'Monk' is an abstraction.

You asked:

How are you?

Thanks for asking.
Answer... quite good.... I went "back on boogie street" a few weeks ago, after receiving some very unusual signs that it was time to do so. A new era awaits me. Not imputing 'monk' any more is quite liberating. I have no expectations. Some things might change dramatically and most may stay basically the same. I am OK with the uncertainty.

I will try to put your advice into practice; I think it is wise advice.

Let your mind go, force some random thought connections

Séan

Sean wrote:
There are two truths, the conventional truth and the ultimate truth. Take the chairman for example, we all need to have a 'chairman' or the committee doesn't work and there is much suffering and confusion and drama. So we appoint a chairman. We put the label 'chairman' on one member. From that moment the person's basis of imputation has changed, their behavior changes and the behavior of other group members changes towards the chairman. Our entire conventional reality is a system of labels. The ultimate truth with respect to the 'chairman' is that he does not exist, or he exists as mere name, or mere imputation, and is not findable.

Thank you for this explanation Sean. I read the poem when it was first posted, but it's meaning was unclear (to me), and I was hesitant to ask. So I read it a few more times, but still no 'aha' moment, until your explanation. I think you are right about our reality being a system of labels, yet I think we strive to create order from the labels so that we can try, at least, to live fairly and with care. 'Discipline' and 'courage' are labels too.

Welcome back to the world labeled 'Boogie Street'!

daka wrote:Look For The Chairman

Look for the chairman
the queen or the king;
behind mere name

"BEHIND MERE NAME" WHAT LANGUAGE IS THIS?
you'll not find anything.


AHHH, I CAN'T STAND IT

Tell me now who you are
and where you can be found;
Can I find you anywhere,
elusive clapping sound?

HERE ELUSIVE CLAPPING SOUND, HERE BOY, GOOD ELUSIVE CLAPPING SOUND, NOW SIT

AAAHHHHHH

Like the chairman or the king
sitting on his throne,


WHAT ABOUT THE BLOODY QUEEN

one day every single thing
will turn to dust or stone.

WHY STONE, OH BECAUSE IT RHYMES OF COURSE


Immortal now? You'll not die?
You'll never leave the stage?
Yes even you one day will fly
and leave your lonely cage.

THAT TOLD THE BASTARD

I am the warden
the jailer too

WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE IN RANK BETWEEN WARDEN AND JAILER?

the guards on the walls

WHY ARE THE GUARDS ON THE WALLS?

who let nothing go through,

THAT IS SO POETIC, WHAT A THRILLING IMAGE, "HALLO, I AM A GUARD WHO LET'S NOTHING THROUGH" THIS IS DOGGEREL ON AN OFF DAY.

the invisible force field
I put in it's place,

NO APOSTROPHE IN ITS, THANKS
and bounce up against it
playing with space,

WELL AT LEAST YOU ARE HAVING FUN. I, MEANTIME AM SUFFERING HERE, WHAT THE HELL DOES ANY OF THIS GIBBERISH MEAN?

my jail a hologram
and I am a phantom
my day is dream

THIS IS NOT ENGLISH OR EVEN A CLOSE RELATIVE

but that's not what it seems

YOU MEAN THIS WAS ALL REAL?
AND AS YOU HAVE CHOSEN SUCH A SIMPLE RHYMING SCHEME, WHY HAVE YOU ENDED WITH "DREAM" AND "SEEMS"

séan

apologies, Sean. I have come to the wrong place and you have always seemed a nice guy, but I find this piece has sucked out my will to live. see you all on June 1st 2009. until then Happy Writing.

and to my friends, I am not deserting you. email as usual.

michael

... I'm sensing an epitaph here... but what would it be, Michael?... in case you'd care to share before departing...

fondingly,

v i o l e t (although [as per another thread] Cate would never use that nasty "m" word, and so I'm conducting, well, probably a fairly lame investigation into text tampering, since I haven't the time right now for anything too taxing)... oh, but sorry to change the subject... have you an epitaph, perchance?... (I hate to see that thread -- well, die, and I haven't come up with another suitable way to kill you off again, I'm afraid)...

So your trouble is with the titles for people - "king," "chairman," etc, and not the people who embody those roles? I'd have to say that wasn't clear in your poem. I agree that anyone is capable of holding those roles, just as I could have been given a different name upon birth. (But I wasn't, was I? ha ha) Establishing such hierarchies is part of our nature. It's strange to me now that you bring death into this poem, because the people who inhabit the roles will die, but the roles will probably continue into the next species our progeny's progeny become. It's part of being in this world, being monkeys.

Apologies accepted, Michael!

Manna

Let's say my name is Mick, in Dublin. One day fate twists and the king dies in what used to be jolly old England. Now someone decides that 'Mick' is the new king of England for some strange reason (maybe the last King got his last jollies in Ireland with a lass). They send me off to London and put me on a throne and start behaving very strangely towards me. Pretty soon I start imputing 'King' on Mick. The old person that used to appear to my mind, 'Mick' vanishes and a suitably pompous and arrogant and snobbish fellow manifests in his place. People of course see a king and treat me like a king and prostrate and do all the other silly things people do to and for Kings.

My issue is with the mental process of King Mick and his subjects.

My 'trouble' isn't with titles at all. My trouble is with the mental fabrication process that does something unusual with a title. A title is an abstraction. The word 'reify' in the English language, which has nothing to do with Buddhism, means to make real an abstraction. This is a mental process, an error, a very significant human error. This is what I take issue with.

Séan

If I have time maybe I'll take a stab at Michael's epitaph; might be fun. I would need to know a little more about his conventional labeling process, though; lawyer, Cohen fan, defender of the faith (Muslim), caustic critic, creator of gorgeous progeny, multiple persona pathology, recent vegetarian,..... can anyone add to the list for me?

Sean,
If you end up meeting Mick on June 1st... it will be an interesting encounter.

Neither of you phased by the opposites in the other... both sharing either water or wine... or both... or neither... just the experience without the same meaning...

Jimmy

daka wrote: If I have time maybe I'll take a stab at Michael's epitaph; might be fun. I would need to know a little more about his conventional labeling process, though; lawyer, Cohen fan, defender of the faith (Muslim), caustic critic, creator of gorgeous progeny, multiple persona pathology, recent vegetarian,..... can anyone add to the list for me?

all you need to know http://www.2bedfordrow.co.uk/member.asp?MemberID=50

my own contact with him suggests that he is a bleedin' heart liberal who, nonetheless, is a grumpy old bastard as well.

Kindly Regardings

Sue

A joint epitaph project?
I don't know Sean, that could be tricky, you yourself mentioned 'mental fabrication'. The fact is all people experience each other in unique ways.

I would add playmate (champion tag player, excellent upside down from the monkey bars hanger) and cyber buddy.
ohh oh - and a great lover of cheese - the dairy variety.
added - Mischief Maker
-------

note to V. had to look to see what type of word I wouldn't use... ya you're right not a likely one for me, I think you're right and there may have been tampering.

edited to add note to V. and to remove quote

Hey Sean,
I would definitely add fisherman to the list.
In fact, Michael claims to be a master baiter.

*~.~*

Let's say my name is Mick, in Dublin. One day fate twists and the king dies in what used to be jolly old England. Now someone decides that 'Mick' is the new king of England for some strange reason (maybe the last King got his last jollies in Ireland with a lass). They send me off to London and put me on a throne and start behaving very strangely towards me. Pretty soon I start imputing 'King' on Mick. The old person that used to appear to my mind, 'Mick' vanishes and a suitably pompous and arrogant and snobbish fellow manifests in his place. People of course see a king and treat me like a king and prostrate and do all the other silly things people do to and for Kings.

Well, when it happens and it's all false and undeserved, then I agree, it's an error. We need a new king. Let's go to Ireland and find some Mick on the street... Yeah, that's an error. The US just made a guy president who seems the most deserving guy for the job I've ever seen. But he's still just a guy to me. I'm sure if I ever met him, there would be formalities to fulfill. Is that what you mean? Those formal protocols? Are there no formal protocols in Buddhism? Do you call your master Master, or do you call him Bob? Bobarino, if you're not into the whole brevity thing? Wait, I don't recall, were you talking from a Buddhist pov or not?