tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33019812.post3471439960867040294..comments2024-01-15T05:26:06.518+00:00Comments on THOUGHTS OF XANADU: I will never forgetKubla Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11973223751363547679noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33019812.post-34780785248669128672009-03-15T14:21:00.000+00:002009-03-15T14:21:00.000+00:00I don't think that "any" sadness or melancholy is ...I don't think that "any" sadness or melancholy is ultimately "affected" - but maybe it becomes so by the fact that we choose to express it somehow, instead of keeping silent. the very gesture of expressing it could be interpreted as an 'affection'. and there is also this: after one is "chosen" by silence, one can either fight it and refuse it - or embrace and deepen it. I guess it is in the end a problem of temperament. maybe. but also that of an entire "vision of the world", which makes everything even more complicated.Roxanahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05650840495095863057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33019812.post-91406518724722510082009-03-15T14:11:00.000+00:002009-03-15T14:11:00.000+00:00Roxana, hi.i must say firstly, thanks for reading ...Roxana, hi.<BR/><BR/>i must say firstly, thanks for reading these'poems' and secondly reading them so well. i guess they are quite open anyway.any 'contempt' or 'anger'is directed at oneself though the impotence of doing so must be kept in mind. i am aware of the moment of reckoning, the culminating end of 'thought'.i have not touched those strings yet.<BR/><BR/>any sadness or melancholy is ultimately 'affected'. these could be poses. thus for eg,some of your pictures could be considered as a longing for sadness or a poem for that matter too. but we gravitate towards such possibilities. or sadness chooses us.Kubla Khanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11973223751363547679noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33019812.post-41193593710622879492009-03-14T19:27:00.000+00:002009-03-14T19:27:00.000+00:00there is this beautiful german word I don't know h...there is this beautiful german word I don't know how to translate, Riss, fissure, rift, split - this moment of separation that the 'I' in your poems relives uncessantly is the Riss going exactly through the center, the middle of one's life - and it is irreversible. sometimes there isn't only sadness or melancholy in your words, but rage and contempt too, fighting each other. <BR/><BR/>I will post later tonight the Eliot poem you introduced me to some time before, do you remember? about that one moment, crucial one, which absorbs all time and memory - moment of departure, of separation...Roxanahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05650840495095863057noreply@blogger.com