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Edifying mines contrive
Thoughts. Imploded minds
Cull each page. Volumes closed are
Volumes absent; cleft
Imports need auxilary
Space to open minds
Outward. Dearth defines
Fractures, limits space,
Clears the synapse, calls the eye,
Which, as needed, posits. I
Comprehend the breach,
Apprehend thereby. 'Tis I.



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The following comments are for "To Teach"
by Aeneas

Obfuscated poetry
(This is going to sound harsh, and for that I appologise)

I'm sorry, but I have no idea what this is about. I struggled to understand any of it, with the profligate use of verbose sounding polysyllabic words.

The positioning of your line-breaks was also hard to understand: There were breaks in mid-thought, but also without seeming to help the rhythm and flow either, and nor did they serve to make a rhyming point (there were some, but they seemed more by chance than design?). In short, the line breaks seemed to serve no purpose, except to throw the reader further off track than the obscure word usage had already done.

Right. I've had my say. I'm sure others will disagree with me; in fact, I hope they do; but for me, this is only going to get a score of 5/10. Sorry.

( Posted by: Spudley [Member] On: September 8, 2003 )

I comprehend, good fellow.
The esoteric and often, to be explicitly self-depricating, TAWDRY nature of my locution has adduced many discerning members of my audience to communicate to me how egregiously complicated it is. Perhaps you ought not travail to construe my bizzare lines. First I shall explicate the significance of the piece. It is actually pertinent to your very point. EDIFY- to improve mentally or intellectually, if I recall correctly- why is this verb paired with "mine"? Perhaps because it is DISCORD that makes us question most. (Is it not admonition that makes me consider my PROFLIGATE use of obscure diction?) Hence the trochaic rhythm. There is not supposed to be a pleasant rhythm to this piece. Someone even said that a poem composed in either completely spondaic or trochaic rhythm would be impossible; I prove them wrong for uncouth points.
Now, the second and third lines: "imploded mines cull each page." If someone has internal mines for edification, they will percieve what is intellectually and mentally correct with greater ease, or "cull each page," select virtues and vices. This discernment may be a painful task, for it disposes of their own ludicrous capacity for blarney (again, something I have experienced and am amid such a fulmination). I am growing apt for this task myself, after vehement exhoration from myself to cease writing altogether. Now, the end of three all the way to the beginning of seven: "Volumes closed are/ volumes absent; cleft/imports need auxilary/ space to open minds/ outward." A mind is capable of immense tasks. However, without exposition and exposure, a mind has little objective worth other than to perform the task of edifying implosion. Now, this new emptiness is a ground for fecund performance on the arable heath. The heath is inside, the growth outside- "open minds outward." Now, the rest of seven on to ten. "Dearth defines..." creative starvation and erudite corpulence, these two characteristics are twins. On the arable intellectual heath we have fissures in the flesh which allow for outward excresences. It is the very inner destruction that has made this space available. Now, the discerning eye is called to impute a value to this. Of what worth is this hollowing of creativity? It can only "posit," or assume the existence of something valuable for the individual. This objective eye, this determining and domineering superciliary stares down and can only impose itself.
Now for the rest. How is this intellectual surfeit justified? Purgation. What is left but an understanding of one's own creative rudiments. Ah! This objective eye, this all imposing, edifying edifice- it was all an action performed by ME. I have done this to myself! Well, it is my edifice. Now that I have sacrificed all to be determined by either the void or the hoi polloi, I can begin to construct something. It is on the lacunae of existence that these fine structures of creativity are built. The only true moment of apperception is this point. We have done what Husserl would call "transcendental reduction." And what is left? An empty transcendental ego. Only it can import things of value, but yet these imports are also internal constructs. It is all the work of one self-identical self. This is my piece.

( Posted by: Aeneas [Member] On: September 8, 2003 )

And clumsily so...
And clumsily so.

( Posted by: Aeneas [Member] On: September 9, 2003 )

Audience
Whether or not the impetus of my own comprehension drives my fingers to lambast the keys is beyond the attention of my audience. My solipsistic urpitude has manifested, and now I view the entailing strife. However, this strife is necessary. The nuance between lucidity and pellucidity is one I have difficulty catching. The pithiest words are often the easiest to comprehend. A difference there is between a writers IDEAS and his LANGUAGE. At this time I seek to improve this. Thank you for the criticism, expect my output to be abated in erudition and improved in clarity and SIGNificance.

( Posted by: Aeneas [Member] On: September 9, 2003 )

Re-Read
It took me two times reading through this and viewing the explanation to comprehend the poem. Anything that requires an essay to explain its purpose lacks in clarity. Once the meaning is made apparent, it seems better, but still not running to my tastes. Two unrelated things:

You seem to be quite wordy. If you're a Latin afficianado, have you read Virgil in Latin? Or English? And did you honestly like Virgil more than Homer, as your choice of pseudonym suggests?

And wait. You really KNOW all those words? Whoa.

( Posted by: Washer [Member] On: September 9, 2003 )

Vergilius me laudat? Minime!
Vergilius non me laudat. I intend to read the Aeneid in Latin some day. As a man of preponderant ambition, I have already recieved tutoring in Latin. I spent a month on Virgil this summer. I read the Eclogues and the Aeneid, the latter in the Dryden translation, the former translated by Guy Lee. Felicity I find in equal sums in the poetry of Virgil and Homer. I take no preference, with seperate considerations for the culture of both. I prefer Greek culture, but consider each work an entity which should only be compared with pertinence to history, and perhaps in the progress of poetical form. With love for the poetry, I set not Euripides and Aeschylus on a balance; they both produced work of superlative excellence.
Yes, I have apprehended a monolithic sum of diction, often resulting in "obfuscated poetry." Quite honestly everything I have composed in the last year has been somewhat obfuscated. My method of apprehending such collosal sums of diction is by writing them ad nauseam. After they sit with tenacity in my mind, I write with pertenacity, often accomodating more for WORDS than for IDEAS. THIS IS THE CONTAGION OF A FRIVOLOUS MAN. Perhaps they, in my nascent blarney, have appeared malapropisms. Cocteau wrote an essay on frivolous men- if you desire to apprehend the nature of my existence then perhaps you ought read this short essay. I am responsible for my language, and as someone who writes, I take these errors into consideration (often my obstinate, solipsistic, pertenacious mind does not enjoy learning to abate prolixity, however it is necessary for my audience) With vaunting hubris I prattle not. My impudent textual mien is a facade for my own reclusive, infirm and idiosyncratic self.I produce these pieces, but they are not annexed to my soul. This would be like annexing a trailer house to a mansion. I confess my absurdity, but desire not to obviate these works, which, however considered, I am responsible for.
Another note on absurd and erudite loquacity- I make cassette tapes where I recite the denotation of words recently apprehended. These words I obtain from all of the olio of literature I read. I feel shame for giving too much attention to words, and so I shall consider, since my greatest interest is philosophy, the idea conveyed.
'To Teach,' work is a nod to the philosophies of Hegel, Heidegger, Husserl and Sartre.
Errare est humanum (I couldn't help it.)

( Posted by: Aeneas [Member] On: September 10, 2003 )

On fine, golden writing
With hubris great, our man doth prate! Arous'd
By Juno's impiety he relates....




( Posted by: Aeneas [Member] On: September 10, 2003 )

Profusion of polysyllabic pulchritude
If brevity is the soul of with
Then verbosity its opposite
The poem was fine, the diction grand
But your exposition a bit out of hand
Your vocabulary suffers no dearth
But perhaps you could join us back here on Earth?

Loved the poem by the way.

( Posted by: Enforced Bliss [Member] On: September 10, 2003 )

And then he wrote...
As a lover of the English language, I loved this work...I'm sure this is how the upper classes spoke in Merry Old England a few centuries ago. (Which I suspect, is what made Shakespeare tweak them so often in his more humerous works!

Having said that, I may be wrong, as no one else has picked up on it, but I think you were doing a little tweaking yourself in posting this. I somehow refuse to believe that you were taking yourself seriously!
What say you sir?

( Posted by: Beatrice Boyle [Member] On: September 11, 2003 )

Indeed
An obstreperous guffaw hath been promulgated apropos. Yes my good fellow, my archaisms exceed quick apprehension, and exceed the value of thought purveyed by this diction. I could write a declarative sentence, but, knowing superfluous words, I convolute my meaning with throw away ostentation. You might might compile my extant work under the title of: "An Amaglamation of Folly." It is a frivolously humorous capacity that only this age could produce.
If your first post was juxtaposed with my follies then congruency would be envisaged. Though with identical vim, honesty is observed in your poetical comment. I thank you for disclosing this.

( Posted by: Aeneas [Member] On: September 11, 2003 )

blah
blah blah blah blah blah....:)

( Posted by: gabby [Member] On: February 27, 2004 )





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