It is no good to miss you,
I know it deep within.
I wish I could be with you,
My lips upon your skin.

I hear your thoughts, they are like mine,
We go together well and fine,
And to the heart within your chest
I wish to lay my head to rest.

It feels so good to miss you,
You mean a lot to me.
I wish I could be with you,
Still it may be to be.

I have been a fool. There is someone very special to me to whom I have not paid enough attention and whom I have not shown enough affection. Time to make amends.


28 thoughts on “Insight

    • I suppose you are referring to the last line of the poem, not the commentary. I am aware that the grammatical structure is unusual. People usually refer with it to the past or the present, and if so, negatively: ‘It was not to be’ or ‘It is not to be’. With ‘it may be to be’, I am referring to the future in a positive manner, meaning that that which is being referred to may still become a reality. I hope this makes sense to you.

    • You are welcome. 🙂 I am not a native speaker of English, either. My first language is German, but I love the English language, not to mention that one can communicate internationally with it with many more people than with German.

    • By the way, how do you perceive vanguard poets who tend to avoid clear rhymes? Have you enjoyed any contemporary ones, or do you stick to the classics?

    • My perception of poetry is not influenced as much by the questions whether and how it implements classic stylistic devices as by the manner in which it reaches out to me. Avoiding rhymes and metres sounds artificial to me; one should rather note something down the way it comes to one’s mind. I, for one, do exactly that. If something comes to my mind in some kind of ordered fashion, I write it down like that. If there is no classic order in that which comes to my mind, I write it down like that. Now, while I am sceptical with regard to modern approaches to poetry that simply list words or throw them at you, I am still open to them somewhat. The same applies to modern and abstract painting. A painting consisting solely in a point and a stroke is not what I consider art. But, you see, this is tolerance. I am not calling for a restriction; I am fine with its existence, yet this does not require me to like it or refrain from critisizing it. I hope I answered your qeustion. Feel free to ask more.

    • Well, I was curious whether there were any living writers—whatever their linguistic background—whose poetry you appreciate. Yet, I can see that you rather draw your inspiration from an eclectic taste of music. I am still wondering if you have any favorites among the renowned poets; you certainly have some of them in your bookshelf?

    • I have been pondering this question since I read it for the first time and find it particularly difficult to answer. Yes, I do own copies of classical works by Goethe, Schiller, Nietzsche, Shakespear, and others; yet they are not that which influenced my own writing the most. I found Nietzsche’s philosophy fascinating because it is like a razor applied to traditional thinking; to a degree, it just served for me to overcome my own boundaries that had become a habit, and I think he would have agreed that this was the major purpose of his writing. Unbeknownst to many people, by the way, Nietzsche also wrote much poetry. His works appear to be plagued by the same thoughts and feelings as mine, even though they led him in a different direction at many an intersection than they have led and continue to lead me. I hope I am not going to meet the same end as he did, but hope is a vain thing, is it not? We should like to think we deserve certain things, yet in the end, this does not amount to anything other than arrogance we cannot afford. My early poetry was heavily influenced by Annette von Droste zu Hülshoff, simply because her poetry was the first poetry I got my hands on in a systematic way. Things changed drastically when I came into contact with the poetry of Till Lindemann, best known as the voice of the band Rammstein. While not emotionally, this was the first time I touched the dark side of poetry and I liked it right away. Perhaps it is an acquired taste, I am not particularly sure, but then again, it does not really seem to matter. Throughout my life I got intrigued by so many things – music, poetry, philosophy, science – that it has become impossible for me to keep track of, as it would seem to me, even the surface of everything. There are still musical instruments I should like to learn to play (the violin foremost), authors I should like to read (Ernest Hemingway, for instance), fields of science I should like to explore more in depth (language acquisition, physics in general), and languages I should like to learn to speak (Russian, Gaeilge) – it just all seems overwhelming, considering that life is so short and love is necessary to see it all through. Should I concern myself with renowned poets, or is this an artificially felt obligation? I do not know.

    • Ironically, I wrote a tiny review about Jenseits von Gut und Böse some weeks ago; it might be for a reason that there have always been musings about the thin line between genius and insanity. According to my inner voice, the best insurance to prevent such a fate is a profound sense of humor. The more serious we take our thoughts the more likely we give ourselves to the “dark side” of anything as gloomy as depressions. Mrs. Rowling—only to give a living example—was capable to transform her misery into a fictional universe, and while I could do perfectly without, many people cannot (my own mother included). I tend to embrace the idea that the world’s greatest poets were those who were not familiar with literary traditions, but this might be just another delusion of mine. Anyway, of all the interests you have mentioned, I firmly recommend to go for the foreign languages. So far, I have been learning four European ones—two of them as a foreigner in the respective culture. Three years ago, I intended to do the same in Turkey, yet it took me more time than the visa permits, and now I am not allowed to re-enter before March 2018.

      How old were you when you composed poetry for the very first time?

    • Genius and insanity are the same thing viewed from different perspectives. Both mean treading outside of the mundane, the usual, outside of the boundaries of rules (even if certain rules are observed inherently – whatever this may spell out to). Oh, but my sense of humour draws from the dark side, at least at its surface. Perhaps we need to dig deeper? I suppose you are somewhat right as to great poets and their unawareness or simply observance of literary traditions. I am aware of traditions, but I mostly ignore them, partially because of indifference and partially on purpose. Speaking of delusions, at what point does an illusion become a delusion? Or does the latter have its own sphere that the former does not necessarily coincide with? I like the thought that ideas can coincide instead of overlap. But this, it would seem, is another discussion yet. Unless my memory is faulty, I wrote my first poems when I was about twelve years old. They were a far cry from that which I write now, crude and primitive at best, but you need to start somewhere, I suppose. I kept going, and my writing style kept developing along the way. Once in a while I feel I need to break loose, and then I will write something different, but I also like returning to that which I have written before, if only to see how far I have come since. Oh, I have been to Turkey myself, if only on holiday. I did not like the countryside, but I most definitely liked the people I met: they were very warm and welcoming. The social turmoil that plagues the country pains me. Perhaps I have not returned there since for this reason. As to foreign languages, yes, I am going to go down that road, anyway, since at some point I must needs travel to Ireland, which I do not wish to do without a fair command of Gaeilge. The language appears not to be that difficult; it has, compared to other languages I know at least in principle, some interesting structures I have not encountered in any other language yet. Add to this the landscapes, the music, and the whiskey, and you have a country suitable for me. I am a friend of the thought of a reunification of Ireland. I hope they are going to allow me to enter the country(/-ies) regardless.

    • So far as I know, “illusion” refers to something external, “delusion” to something internal. But again, being neither a native speaker nor a philologist I leave those issues to others. As a boy I started to write verses along the lines of Wilhelm Busch. More than two decades later, I still find them hilarious. Yet, nowadays I love epic poems. Yesterday I finished reading a slightly abridged version of Wolfram von Eschenbach’s “Parzival” (the lyric translation by Dieter Kühn). Imagine to compose 25,000 verses about two main characters! My longest poem is 360 verses—only mature women appreciate something like that. Where exactly have you been in Turkey? I only know Muğla province, and I would have returned to a Turkish friend if they let me. Their fundamentalist government is a nuisance of course, but the United States seem to face a similar fate …
      Actually, Ireland is a country everyone who has been there raves about. To me, Gaeilge seems pretty complicated as well as fascinating. So if you really want to learn it you better live among those 70,000 native speakers. Someone as interested in their culture as you will be welcomed in the warmest way for sure.

    • The provided definitions still allow for the former to turn into the latter. If you hold on to an illusion, ignoring all evidence to the contrary, it will become a delusion. I like the ambiguity that the word ‘epic’ has adopted through colloquial use. I share your interest in epic poems, at any rate. To what extend, may I ask, is the version of ‘Parzival’ you read abridged? I, for one, usually cringe when I read that word and continue to look for an unabridge version. Presenting someone with a poem is, for aught I know, playing a wild card – both of you never know what the recipient may find in the package made of words, regardless of its length. I like to think of poetry as doing exactly that: wrap things up and have others look inside to pull out things you would not have expected to be found. If I remember correctly I travelled to Antalya; it got most interesting when we travlled away from the tourist areas to the hinterland. Yes, the United States of America is on its way to a police state, at least that is what my American friends tell me. This year’s presidential elections once more served nicely to distract people from the actual problems the country faces. As concerns Ireland, or Éire, I must needs travel there one day, there is no way around it (unless I die, of course). I shall answer its call, as the song you may know puts it.

    • You are referring to ‘epic fail(ure)’ and similar uses I suppose? When I heard that for the first time from my nephews’ lips I had a good laugh. Dieter Kühn’s book is an epic work of 900 pages; in its prose part, he explains that he had translated all of Wolfram’s stanzas but eventually chose to leave out those passages which focus on characters other than Percival and Gawain, respectively. He assessed them as too confusing for the modern reader. I cannot recall whether he mentions a number of stanzas, but regarding the fact that any other version is a prose translation I went along with him. Besides, one must keep in mind that (most?) antique and medieval poets did not compose their heroic epics as books—they rather orally presented what they had memorized. To me, this is the most astonishing aspect of a classical epic. Have you read any? I entirely share what you say about the unlimited ways of perceiving a poem. Touching to one, funny to someone else, ridiculous to another. You definitely show a poet’s optimal attitude in order not to be disappointed with unexpected responses.
      Poor U. S.: the voters are having a hard time understanding that one doesn’t need to be a bear so as to be grizzly.

    • I was not referring to ‘epic fail’ (which is a negative) but to a positive manner of using it, simply as a means of expressing that you like something above the average level of approval.
      I do understand Kühn’s approach, then, although I do not like it, most likely because I am a completionist. Of course, what a modern reader is will heavily depend upon what kind and size of audience one wishes to address. The audience of a book dealing with poetry from antiquity will already be small to begin with, and these days, people have everything but time.
      You are right: For the most part of human history, all tales, regardless of their form, have been related orally, thus undergoing even more change than any written, canonized, or professionally edited version.
      As to politics, one thing remains certain, not only for the USA: War is coming. (Are we Nietzsche yet?)

    • So what have you praised as ‘epic’ recently? Is it true that the modern reader has ‘everything but time’? I would rather think people have more free-time than ever; it seems to be a matter of priorities to me. Yet, I admit the distraction jungle is too luring for many of us.
      What differs you from Nietzsche is that you got more followers.

    • If I remember correctly, I have occasionally praised certain situations or scenes in video games as ‘epic’. Especially when playing in co-operative mode, such situations may occur more often than in single-player mode.
      Ironically, I wrote an email in which I discuss all kinds of phrases related to time just a few minutes ago. I did not even intend to do so originally, it was just one of those little excursus occurring to me once in a while. Perhaps I am going to create a separate post from that excursus on this very weblog, depending in part upon said email’s recipient’s reaction to it. You are certainly right inasmuch as priorities determine, first, what we do, and second, how we do it. The concept of time, however – and this is the philosopher in me speaking – may be misleading, thus leading to confusion where there should be none or at least would not be necessarily. To hint at what I wrote in the aformentioned email, how free is free time?
      As concerns your comment referring to the difference between Nietzsche and me, I laughed, but I see what you mean. The question is whether this is a good thing or a bad thing.

    • What kind of video games, may I ask, do you play? As a student I liked RPGs, but for nine years I have been able to resist. I never played online though.
      Having more followers than Nietzsche is a great thing—as long as your mind is free of delusions of grandeur.

    • I play almost all genres of video games, mostly RPGs and ARPGs, though. What, exactly, do you mean by you have been able to resist? Were you addicted?
      Oh, I do not feel anything even close to pride. My only purpose here is sharing my thoughts and feelings with anyone who would care to ponder them for a moment when stumbling across them. What grandeur could be found in my works, anyway, if I do not even consider them original. Everything and anything worth thinking, saying, and writing down has already been thought, said, and written down. There is nothing to see here, after all.

    • In fact I used to play several hours in a row, and unless there is a social component in it (like playing with someone) my fiancee & I consider it a waste of time. But frankly spoken, both of us would easily become addicted to those games if we had not agreed on a mutual resisting.
      And regarding the comparison with the infamous philologist, I am sure you are way more sympathetic a fellow than he used to be. I simply liked to point out his delusions.

    • Video games do have an addictive aspect, I agree. And even if one is not addicted to them, it is a time consuming hobby nonetheless. I like playing with others, but not so much against them.
      Would you consider reading Nietzsche, then, a waste of time? I consider reading other authors a whetstone for my own thinking. Nietzsche’s understanding and writings were sharp as a whip lash; whether he knew how to cut that which came before him at the right points is a different question, of course.

    • I tried; she said she did not interpret my behaviour the way I described, but I was not convinced. Do you know how, at least with specific people, you can hear what they mean (feel and think) in their voices? There is always the possibility that I overthink things; but then again, I still have a bad conscience, and this, according to all my past experience, usually means I am right.
      Now I shall simply have to wait for an opportunity to demonstrate that my heart lies in each word I have said and written. Yet for that opportunity to be provided, it takes two.

    • Well said. We wait and see what happens. And about hearing what people mean in their voices, I totally get that! Makes you think you’re crazy for reading too much into a person’s demeanor.

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