Thursday, October 08, 2009

Myself and I

photograph by Jo Whaley


I sometimes spend the better of my day
in silent conversation with myself
and any storms that happen on the way
I simply take and put them on a shelf
inside this lamentable closet of a brain
where weirdest things have long been stored:
romantic love, forgotten dreams, plenty of pain –
I might be sobbing, mad, but seldom bored.

They often surface on a whim
and sometimes, when they’re summoned, hide.
Nevertheless, they’re all inside
for I alone,
and for this paper, now and then.

24 comments:

Fireblossom said...

Ohhhhh, I understand this, Missy, I do I do! Sometimes I feel as if I have spent a lifetime collecting odds and ends that I've found or read or experienced or seen... and then when I sit down to write, it seems a little like poking through Grandma's attic. A little of this, and maybe some of these, and oh yes, definitely THESE.

And the loves and the heartaches and the moments that stay, they all float to the surface when they will.

Yup, me too, gal. :-)

laughingwolf said...

i know that feeling too, v... and share it only with myself

like bob dylan sez: it`s for myself and my friends my stories are sung...

Rick said...

You have a very, very complicated inner self. I like that.

Michelle Johnson said...

i think we all have these moments saved up for a rainy day when we can bring them out and dwell on each thought, love or memory. sometimes they can bring happiness, sometimes tears but they're always an experience that helps us grow. beautiful writing. hope all is well.

the walking man said...

The question is, are you conversing with your self...or perhaps the presence of that spirit living within your soul?


I do so love the piece, reconfirming once again why you are one of my favorite contemporary poets V.

Karen said...

Vesper, this is a delightful, lighthearted view of what feels like a universal experience. I remember once years ago, Kaye of OMM told me she'd like to take a dental pick and clean out the crevices of her brain. That has always stuck with me as a great image for "the things we carry." (I wonder if she'll see this and remember that? See - that's what I mean. Stuck in this "lamentable closet of a brain" are some of "the weirdest things...long stored".

This is a great poem. I agree with TWM!

Favorite line:
"I might be sobbing, mad, but seldom bored."

BernardL said...

'Seldom bored'... indeed. The 'silent conversation' I've noticed sometimes leaks into the audible range in the last few years. :) Very nice, Vesper.

Marilyn Brant said...

Lovely and thoughtful and so very relate-able ;). Thank you, Vesper.

Liza said...

"They often surface on a whim
and sometimes, when they’re summoned, hide."
Yep, I can relate.
This is a great piece.
Thanks for sharing.

Charles Gramlich said...

I have many fascinating conversations with myself. Not everyone who has shared them agrees.

strugglingwriter said...

Very cool. I love this bit the best:

"and any storms that happen on the way
I simply take and put them on a shelf"

Paul

Taffiny said...

I know this of which you speak,:), which is why I was surprised when this summer internally I was very quiet. I am just starting to whisper again now that it is October. And I must say, the silence has been odd. (who is this woman, this different feeling I?) Before it was like mentally I was always knitting something, picking up different colored strands, pulling things together, pulling things apart, working materials, weaving ideas. Then all of a sudden, nothing. Nothing was being formed or pondered. Odd. Empty. The only good thing was someone could talk to me at any moment, and not get glared at, for they were not pulling me away from somewhere else.
Your poetic words here make me think of you as a jewelry box, filled with all sorts of mementos, trinkets, precious gems, and strands of pearls, silver, and gold, the internal contents of your life.

Nevine said...

Our minds are seldom boring, as stuffed as they are with all the things we can and can't remember. Your ability to put storms on a shelf is baffling to me; I have the hardest time with setting things aside. "They often surface on a whim... and sometimes, when they're summoned, hide." To be hit with an unwanted memory is, to me, the hardest thing to deal with, and yes, I sometimes struggle to retrieve something from my mental archives but find myself so frustrated.

You've said it all so simply, beautifully, realistically, and unaffectedly.

K.Lawson Gilbert said...

I do, indeed, remember that Karen - and I still wish, sometimes, that I could do just that. ;)

Vesper, I always love your word choices, "lamentable closet of a brain" is a line that will keep running in my lamentable closet of a brain.

This is terrific subject matter for a poem. I love reading this aloud - the rhyme and rhythm lend themselves so wonderfully.

I am always impressed here and always enjoy my visit. Thank you, friend.

Geraldine said...

I can relate to your words Vesper. Powerful...well done!

Hugs and Happy Thanksgiving, G

Gel said...

Oh Vesper, I sure do relate to those "silent conversations", "where weirdest things have long been stored." Terrific metaphor "lamentable closet of a brain." I wonder if it's part of being creative, meaning those of us who are not "concrete", ponder, yearn, think and rethink, remember, and more...
(I don't know if you remember me. I used to write poetry on a regular basis posted with my art, but I've been out of blogland and just started up a blog again. I think we met via K.L. Gilbert's blog.)

(I can't leave a link through your comment box. Open Id often does not work for typepad. :( My site is at www.SoulCrayons.typepad.com)Hope you stop by.

-Gel

jason evans said...

How do they behave on that shelf?

I think about how nice a shelf would be. A dusty old library. But my shelved things are hot. I'm afraid they'd burn the place down. Therefore, I try to fashion it all into one intricate present.

Aniket said...

Everyone can so relate to this, Vesper.

We all have these conversation with ourselves on our solitary walks. Each line here stands out so giant on its own in depth and meaning, and that makes this one a piece to remember.

My fav. line was:
"They often surface on a whim
and sometimes, when they’re summoned, hide."

This happens to me all the time.

Vesper said...

Fireblossom, it’s comforting, especially in moments of pain, to know that these are universal feelings… Thank you! :-)

Thanks for sharing it with me too, laughingwolf… :-) :-) :-)

Rick, yes and no… But, thank you! :-)

Michelle, you’re right, “an experience that helps us grow”…. Thank you. :-)

Mark, perhaps… who knows…
Thank you, my friend, I bow to you…

Karen, what an image! To take a dental pick and clean out the crevices of your brain… Oh, how I’d like that! (But I’m afraid of dentists!!!)
Thank you so much!
xoxoxo

Bernard, thank you! I remember, I was in high school and a friend asked if I was ever bored. I said no, because even then I had my head full of stories. She was very surprised. You’re right about the audible range…:-) :-) :-)

Thank you, Marilyn! :-)

Liza, thank you for your kind praise. And thank you for visiting my blog! :-)

Charles, :-) :-) :-)! I agree… :-)

Paul, thank you very much! :-)

Taffiny , I love this, mentally I was always knitting something… Many times I wish I weren’t. I think I’d welcome your silence every now and then…
What a beautiful image you’re conjuring, that of a jewelry box. It would be nice if it were filled with only the beautiful things you’re enumerating.
Thank you for your beautiful thoughts and words.

Nevine, of unpleasant things I choose not to think, and most of the time I succeed in letting them acquire dust on a remote shelf… (Some would say this is not healthy…)
I am surprised by how many and how often people say they’re bored. But probably it takes a writer inside of you to keep you “busy” all the time.
Thank you for your kind words.

Kaye, you always have for me such wonderful words that warm my heart. I’m always looking forward to your visit. Thank you! :-)

Geraldine, thank you! I hope you had a happy Thanksgiving! :-)
*hugs*

Gel, I do remember you, and your poetry, and your art, and your jewelry… I don’t know how I lost track of your other website – can’t find it anywhere… I’m certainly very glad that you came here. Thank you for your kind words. I’ll come and visit you.

Jason, I’m afraid they behave quite badly sometimes… :-)
One intricate present… I like that…

Thank you, Aniket! It’s so very nice to know we are similar in so many ways… Thank you for your very kind praise. :-)

Catvibe said...

I have often been known to speak of how crazy the idea of boredom is. How can anyone possibly be bored when there is SO MUCH going on inside and out? I can totally relate to this Vesper. Lovely melancholy.

Aine said...

Sometimes I find myself surprised that my internal conversations are actually silent, because they seem so loud in my head! LOL

And those storms-- I like to set aside a day or two to sit back and observe the wind and rain. Once they've run their course they pass. (Not to say there haven't been a few that insist on whipping up new batches of fury...)

S said...

Oh, I'm sorry I didn't realize I left you a somewhat duplicate message. I'm not trying to rush you. In catching up on reading blogs, my brain becomes fried and I forget where I've stopped by until I read a post I've already read, like this one, but I had already commented on the current post.) If you can follow that rambling comment path, you can outrun any werewolf! :D

Hi Karen,
I was delighted you visited and you can read my reply in that comment thread. As a stressful 2009 nears an end, I'm delighted to be up and running full blast.(I have dearly missed the camaraderie from sharing writing.) I even added you to my blogroll, something I need to build from scratch!

-gel This is my new writing & photography blog address

joaquin carvel said...

"I might be sobbing, mad, but seldom bored." - that is magnificent - a line that connects a lot of us, i think. love the balance of meloncholy / whimsy in this.

GoGo said...

You are a nice find.