This Poem was Submitted By: Mell W. Morris On Date: 2005-07-29 17:39:12 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
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The Red Hat
A poet is compelled to write his vision
of the world, to remake things the way
he wants. He cannot leave the world
alone...he has tried more than once.
To understand a poet and his work is
proprium for those interested and
not an easy task. A poet I describe
always keeps his enchiridion at hand
and I wonder if it helps him hear hues
of purple lilacs and taste the sound
of blues Coltrane wails from his sax.
When poet completes a poem and sets
it aside, he finds himself returning
time and again to make small changes.
Part of his inability to leave matters
alone. Nothing ever is final in vast,
intricate metaphysical realms where I
long to reside. Moving slowly inch by
inch...to the other side.
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Copyright © July 2005 Mell W. Morris
Additional Notes:
I write more about poets and poetry than composing my own
pieces. I do not believe it to be avoidance behavior but
an insatiable need or curiosity about this art form and
those who create it. I have learned so much in four years,
thanks to you.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Duane J Jackson On Date: 2005-08-07 07:08:56
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.97222
Hi Mell,
You have a lamp in your hand...the alley is probably as dark as it gets....but there is a lot going on....hammers and chisels working stone tablets...the poets are definitely wide awake.
I have often tried to get to the roots of poetry and what spurs it as an art-form. In doing so, I found myself merely re-dsiocvering all that encompassed me. I believe, as poets, we are all of the same feather...or lets say birds with different feathers. Nonetheless, there is a very visible common strand running through us all. Have I been able to undestand it? I haven't. Infact I tend to question it when the hours get lonely, when the pain pinches, when a stranger chuckles at what I do out of incomprehension. yet, I know that in order to do full justice to the art and to the thoughts that make it possible, loneliness is the key ingredient. This loneliness could be spent with nature, oneself or a lover....but that there is loneliness involved is without doubt.
I completely identify with your curiosity. You have already discovered so much. I for one, cannot leave the world alone. I hold it in the palm of my hand...free to write about it the way I want to...but I cannot conquer it or re-shape it...not as easily as I would like...It's made of iron. I always have a store for thoughts creeping up my mind...it's very rarely parchment...i either use my cell phone or my puter but this is true - we can never let go off a sight, sound, or thought that grabs us. We are fidgety. Thirdly, a poem is never complete. We are fussy gardeners. The shrubs are never clipped or cut good enough, there's always a little more watering and sowing to be done..alwasy a new seed waiting to sprout shoots, etc.
This is like looking into a mirror of words and you understand your peers and friends so clearly!!
You titled this 'Red Hat' and this is interesting. I believe this has to do with identity or being unique as poets and as a poet within a world of poets. It might also have to do with YOUR thoughts about the world of poetry and what makes and drives poetry
Thankyou for this amazing post. Looking forward to more, next month. Hope all is well with you.
Take care,
Duane.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2005-08-06 18:46:08
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.50000
Mell,[little big one]
I already had this on my voting list!
It's wonderful.
Just wanting to say your heart is pure poetry.
It's who you are and you share your gift with everyone you touch.
You may not be dancing, but your words are smooth, rhythmic, joyful celebration
of who you are. You're not slipping to the metaphysical realm, you've always been part of it.
You just recognize it now!
You are such a beautiful soul. You honor us all..
Love,
Dellenita
This Poem was Critiqued By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2005-08-05 19:52:08
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
I'm pleased as punch to see this. I am happy that you are still writing.
Hope the days are soft under your saddle.
t.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Rick Barnes On Date: 2005-08-04 20:05:54
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Mell,
I am so incredibly moved by this piece. I have laways thought that we as poets have no more of a flair for the truth than a plumber has, so we create our own out of the not-as-usless-as-it-seems debris around us.
We do hear purple, we do taste the blues of Coltrane and see the aroma of things. I especially like the phrase, "moving slowly inch by inch...to the other side.", because we are aren't we? Yes, yes we are.
You have learned so much in the last four years? My Dear, you brough it with you.
Ever in your shadow,
Rick
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joyce P. Hale On Date: 2005-08-04 05:34:26
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.54902
Mell, you have described that sometimes-lonely, always-searching being so well!! The Poet! I love the lines,
*I wonder if it helps him hear hues
of purple lilacs and taste the sound
of blues Coltrane wails from his sax.*
What a unique way to use the senses!
and *He cannot leave the world alone...* How apropos to those who see the world in so many varied ways, and write about it as they wish it were! Very insightful.
One question, I looked up *proprium* as I always do when I do not know the exact meaning of a word, and did not find it in my dictionary. Is this a word you made up, or is my dictionary not as comprehensive as I have always wished it to be? <grin> I do not say this in reproachment in any way as I have been known to make up a word or two myself when I could not find quite the right one; and if this is so, I am quite elated to find another writer who does this. Hee hee hee
Peace. Joyce
This Poem was Critiqued By: Turner Lee Williams On Date: 2005-08-03 22:49:54
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.78947
Mell–“The Red Hat” threw me. I mean the title–why red hat for this? Well my
theory: because it’s noticeable (stands out in a crowd); a leader might wear such
an adornment. If it was-- brown? or gray- would we be concern? I don’t think so!
Sorry, trying to delay misstating your intents. In the past you’ve posted many tri-
butes to bards and their contributions. Your admiration/adoration for them and
the genre have been quite candid and well stated (“poets are the conscience of
nations”--who said that?). One has to only peruse a smattering of your offerings
(I highly suggest a few of my favorites-Terra Incognita; Every Poem An Autograph;
pernicious anomaly; Judging By the Cover; The Texture of Blue; Portrait of Loss
As Three Styles of Music) to discern the gift you possess for diction, euphony,
insight, imagination and empathy/sympathy;
“A poet is compelled to write his vision
of the world, to remake things the way
he wants. He cannot leave the world
alone...he has tried more than once.
To understand a poet and his work is
proprium for those interested and
not an easy task. A poet I describe
always keeps his enchiridion at hand
and I wonder if it helps him hear (hues)
of purple lilacs and taste the sound
of (blues) Coltrane wails from his sax.”
Poetess personal take on poetry (an astute “ars poetica.”) is a teaching tool for
the aforementioned attributes. Utterance of mundane striving via calculated odds
to obtain serenity is the perfect coda;
“Moving slowly inch by
inch...to the other side.”
P. S. During my stay at TPL I’ve offered different forms of poetics and you’ve
always been kind enough to take notice of them. You’ve definitely influenced my
improvement the most: suggestions on rewrites, calling attention to syntax goofs
and rendering candid comments. Because of you my home library now contains
“Eating the Honey of Words”; “Leaves Of Grass”; “West Wind”; plus others. More-
over, my Funk and Wagnal has become dog-eared. Your presence for the past two
years has been nothing short of inspiring. Thanks. TLW
This Poem was Critiqued By: Troy D Skroch On Date: 2005-07-31 15:44:12
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
The Red Hat
Mell, I started smiling a soon as I saw the title to this one. Hmm, your red hat is, to me, a part of the crest of every poet. It’s the equivalent of a wizard’s staff in power and the taste of chocolate covered cherries in its sweetness. It’s like an electrified kiss! LOL! I myself would go and buy one today if the townspeople wouldn’t persecute me for wearing it.
“A poet is compelled to write his vision
of the world, to remake things the way
he wants. He cannot leave the world
alone...he has tried more than once.”
I wish I could find a few more poets like the one, whose words, I see before me now. To write and live the life experience of poetry, is what I preach to any who will listen.
To understand a poet and his work is
proprium for those interested and
not an easy task. A poet I describe
always keeps his enchiridion at hand
No, it can’t be an easy task if the poet has woven his or herself into their art. And it shouldn’t be taken lightly, but reflected on and researched on an emotional and intellectual level. Sigh. Recently, I spent some time with some poets, finding only a few that wrote their vision onto the world. They had everything to gain and nothing to lose. Others seemed to be comparing themselves to each other and jealously sizing up another’s metaphor. Ridiculous.
and I wonder if it helps him hear hues
of purple lilacs and taste the sound
of blues Coltrane wails from his sax.
When poet completes a poem and sets
Ah, the power of the red hat bends and lends the ear the ability, not only to hear, but to taste, and to the tongue the ability to taste the sounds that flow through the air to the poet’s observant being. How beautiful.
it aside, he finds himself returning
time and again to make small changes.
Part of his inability to leave matters
alone. Nothing ever is final in vast,
And returning again to the desert table, to prepare the this treat a different way, adding or taking away a few sprinkles to enhance the experience for himself and the seated guests.
intricate metaphysical realms where I
long to reside. Moving slowly inch by
inch...to the other side
Thank you for the fine dining experience. Another feather in your hat. Wink...simle.
Troy
This Poem was Critiqued By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2005-07-30 14:53:46
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.84848
Hi Mell,
I too believe poets are a different breed than most and this art form can be a puzzle to those who don't or can't write. As for TPL teaching you is to say the sun will not rise again! Without you I would not have hung around as long as I have. Sometimes your words were harsh but I learned something from every one of them....so don't get any funny ideas about going anywhere because you have not finished me yet. There is still some moulding to be done. This poems is a perfect glimpse into the personality of poets. We do try to reshape things to our liking and we also tend to glorify what we see. Poetry is all around us and in everything we see and I can't help but feel sorry for people that can't experience what we do....'helps him hear hues of purple lilacs and taste the sound of blues Coltrane wails from his sax.' The notion of hearing colors and tasting sound is delicious and very descriptive of the poet within....'finds himself returning time and again...' that is exactly what I do! I read and re-read until I am almost sick to death of the thing before I ever post it. I am always sorry if I post something before I have mulled it over and over. But that is not exactly true...I recently wrote two pieces about a patient I came in contact with when I was volunteering in the radiation oncology unit and those I just wrote and posted without agonizing over them. I never intended to get in the top ten, I just needed to put my feelings down on paper to make me feel better. Your last stanza is especially poignant to me..especially...'moving slowly inch by inch...to the other side.' We are all doing that and we all wish we were not, but such is life. I was so elated to see this poem on my list today. I was afraid you were feeling too bad to write...but that is silly of me because I know you will write no matter how you feel. As long as you can hold a pen you will write because it is a part of you...like breathing and thinking. Be well, my friend. And I will continue to scan the list of poems everyday so I won't miss your next outstanding offering!
Warm hugs....Marilyn
This Poem was Critiqued By: arnie s WACHMAN On Date: 2005-07-30 10:15:58
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.81818
What a wonderful tribute to poetry and our craft. Compelled to write his vision? I would add
with his "own" truths whatever that may be, e.g.: my truth is not yours necessarily. Many a
writer and poet has been banned and/or banished because of that.
of blues Coltrane wails from his sax...."wailing from his sax".
And you're right...nothing is ever final except death, at least on this plane. I just had a friend who
describe to me a near death experience, no tunnel or light, but life flashing backwards. He is
totally amazed at the experience.
enchiridion.......... ? I've no reference to this word in 3 dictionaries.
I do not understand the title - is it related somehow to the Red Hat Women of whom I know very
little?
Thanks for this posting.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2005-07-30 03:20:55
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.66216
Love the title The Red Hat........so often in the stores I see them, pins, necklaces, hats, etc., bright red, standing out so by themself.......with but yet apart.....as with your description of poets and poetry.....of this world but so apart from it as well..........good structure, word flow, images, emotions, one can see themself within the lines my friend, how often I have written and gone back to read it over and over to make slight changes that I think need be ...........the many roads we travel in this life we live that will one day bring us to that other side......food for thought as well......thank you for posting and sharing once more your God given talent. My prayers are always with you Mell, someday you will be totally well.........God Bless, Claire
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2005-07-29 22:30:04
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.95000
MellO,
To find a poem by you is one of the main reasons I am still here. It gives
me a deeply felt joy to read anything you write. You thank us in your notes,
but do you know how you have shaped the poetic vision here on TPL?
Do you have any idea how you have affected my writing? I will tell you
much more in an email. You teach me, you reach me, you make me
cry and laugh. Your writing about poetry, your poetry-crafting skills,
your humility about your own writing – what an example and privilege
to read your thoughts! I am getting way too wordy here and will have
to write more to you offline. I must speak to the poem.
A poet is compelled to write his vision
of the world, to remake things the way
he wants. He cannot leave the world
alone...he has tried more than once.
I love it! “remake things” – yes, a thousand light-years of yeses.
In the first stanza I am already feeling as if I have completed
the course, eaten the five-course banquet, run the race, accepted
the gold and handed it to you. (It’s yours, my poetess laureate.)
How poets cannot leave the world alone! You even show how
addictive and compelling and compulsive this art is, how it
drives those who may attempt to suppress it, restrain it or even
encompass it. (Why are you so driven? Ask a poet. Why else
am I alive? How else to be, why breathe?)
To understand a poet and his work is
proprium for those interested and
not an easy task. A poet I describe
always keeps his enchiridion at hand
Here you do another thing that you have heard plenty about and which
always thrills me. You respect your reader’s intelligence and give words
which open up new synapses for some of us. I want to learn every word
there is, but am too lazy, and then you give them in the context of your
poetry, enlarging the meaning of the word, you “cannot leave the world
alone.” I find this as ‘syllogism or paradox’ - a wonderfully, wordfully
delicious mouthful of language. Now I am flipping through my handbook
for “enchiridion” as I want to possess this word, too. (Laughing, for I
know in advance that you will smile at this remark.)
and I wonder if it helps him hear hues
of purple lilacs and taste the sound
of blues Coltrane wails from his sax.
When poet completes a poem and sets
Now you give the gift of synesthesia which is one of your trademarks.
I feel right now that I don’t need any more poetry, that I am satiated
with this stanza above. I am stuck right here for now. And it may be
a long time before I move along. Hearing Coltrane wails, seeing
the purple/blues…don’t want to go anywhere. These tastes and
sounds, so replete, and yet you wisely show, just below how we
must return, time and again. To the vast creative life that calls
us. You show me here that we were created to be creators. Meant
to evoke and serve beauty, in its many forms, always. So liberating,
your understanding of this return, return, return. Your recognition
of the “inability to leave things alone” is like being let out of jail.
Cannot, to save my soul, or anything else, do it. Nor can the
greats, and thank god they could not. Thank goddess you can not.
Did not.
it aside, he finds himself returning
time and again to make small changes.
Part of his inability to leave matters
alone. Nothing ever is final in vast,
intricate metaphysical realms where I
long to reside. Moving slowly inch by
inch...to the other side.
In these last two lines, I must hear you. And it is very, very hard.
But since you have brought me all this way, I am along for the
entirety of the journey. How you weave our souls together, all
of us who read this and who love you. That you have written
“Nothing is ever final” gives me the hope I need to survive, to
live the life I have been called to live, to believe in your
continuing presence with me always, no matter where our
physical bodies will sojourn. As always I have written too
many words and not gotten to the point. It doesn’t matter –
“It is all good.” All. Good.
This is a personal response and yet, so much less than I
am experiencing within. I am out of words and cannot
play the sax. But I am listening.
Always, always
Joanne
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