Words as Rosary Beads (Day 13)
A poem can be
an especially fine net
to lure and catch
elusive creatures, such as:
fleeting mental-emotional states,
or spiritual presences.
Words need not be
the opposite of Silence,
they can also be
its ambassadors
Words as beads, on a rosary
tugging on one after the other
to be carried away to the vast
and then returned to safe harbor
To accept this world
as it is, isn’t
realistic—it’s cynical.
© Yahia Lababidi
This is my entry for Day 13 of @d-pend's The 100 Day Poetry Challenge. To learn more, please, visit Steemit School on discord
This is good. This is almost too good. I don't mean this as a backhanded compliment, really, but this stanza feels like it's too large for this piece. It's too much truth. It is an aphorism. Heck, even just the first two lines of this stanza are a good aphorism on its own.
I'd even publish them on their own, let people dwell on them.
It is also something I've spoken of a number of times in recent times. One of the things I find the most lacking about text-based chats is the inability to converse via silence. One of the best marks of true comfort in another's presence is being able to sit by them in silence. Companionable silence. Comfortable silence.
But online, you have to at least emote. Because when you do not write, you do not exist. How to tell the other you are comfortable just being with them, via text? The act of doing so dashes the experience.
Well, maybe with poetry, but it is still pointing to the thing rather than being the thing.
I'd also say it's interesting to think of it in reverse - silence can be the ambassador of words. Also a nucleus for ideas, and a poem, perhaps.
An interesting point not dwelt on for long is that words take you to unsafe places. Words come from unsafe activities. An interesting notion, in an ars poetic piece.
The only thing that bugged me a bit in the piece is the final stanza, because most such cynic-realists would reply, "I'm a realist" when accused of being cynical. And it is not exactly a refute of the accusation, but owning up to it differently.
So I feel it's still close to a tautology, and too clear-cut. But then again, poetry is allowed to look at the so-called obvious, isn't it?
But that stanza is still there in context. Words take us beyond what is. That is the hope they engender.
Thank you, Guy, for your fine, discerning eye. That is an aphorism of mine that found its way into the poem --(this) one steals from himself that way...)
Silence, oof, where to begin, my friend... It's my earliest and most enduring master. I nearly wrote a book on it. In fact, all my books are echoes of it.
Because my mind works in quotes, here's one from Gibran, on the limited freedom that words offer:
I feel too passionately about cynics, having previously been one, to address your concern, steadily. Cynics are in need of constant reassurance - that their doubts about humanity are true and then, of course, that they are not.
That last bit on cynics made me chuckle. Aside from one part of it, that is true of all ideologists. All idealists, even. Cynics, like many of the most stringent atheists, are just another form of idealists. I personally think cynics are optimists that feel the need to shelter their fragile hearts.
Explanations are not excuses, but still. But maybe that stance is born out of me being an optimist cynic, or a cynical optimist, which I wrote on before. That I see the best, and use it to expect the worst. Or maybe the other way around.
That's a good quote, by Gibran. Unsurprisingly.
And I hear you. After my first barrage of love poems this year, I wrote several pieces on the limited scope of words. Oh, I hear you.
And here's a rhetorical question, is silence ever one's master, or the tool we use, or the environment we need, to be our own?
P.S. I'd argue our best creations do tend to be us stealing from ourselves. I mean, when we finally make something good, why use it only once? :D
Sure, cynics are broken-hearted idealists, who promise never to trust or love, again. If you ask me, they poison life with their calculating, small-mindedness.
In the pregnant prescription of one who devoted an entire book of thoughtful meditations to this subject, philosopher Max Picard says: “Silence is listening.” And, as attentive practitioners of this metaphysical art may sense, it can sometimes be unclear who is doing the actual listening… us, or Silence itself.
So, yes, Master, all ways, never tool. It is Silence that uses us ;)
Words as beads, on a rosary
tugging on one after the other
to be carried away to the vast
and then returned to safe harbor
I love this. I have been trying japa as meditation, beads on a string and the recitation of mantra 108 times. The resonance of the words and their meaning tug into the heartspace. I guess they are like rosary too. There is the neuroscience of repetition, too - that we become what we oft repeat. To tug the bead and call for love, compassion, silence, serenity, peace, strength - and have it return to us is a beautiful thought.
Beauty-filled response... tugging into heartspace, neuroscience of repetition, becoming what we repeat. To paraphrase Aristotle:
Thank you, for your attention and may all you call for, of good, return to you.
_/|\_You are so good at paraphrasing and quotes! Maybe if I practice that, I can get better at it too! I like this one - I might print it off for my English classroom today - they need a new quote on the wall!
If so, please, attribute it to Will Durant, I quote his paraphrase 🤓 Ah, so you’re an English teacher—that explains why you are so articulate 👌🏼
At times - I find myself speechless, often, at the end of a day...!
I begin my day that way... so susceptible am I to the charms of Silence.
I love your soul <3 ----->
And, I love that you heard this, with such enthusiasm, dear @tygertyger! May we, all ways, try to be upward-reaching and within wing's wind of a Great Song <3
Words As Rosary Beads - I love that! Words truly can be magical. And like you, I also use them for expression and transmutation. Great poem!
We use words, sometimes, to lose words or point at something beyond them: like fingers pointing to the moon. Thanks for reading, and for your kind appreciation. I'm off to check out your transmuted expression :)
the world in my hands, the afterlife in my heart .. the poetry is good.. .if pleased, may read and criticize my poetry.. thank @yahialababidi
Thank you, for sharing your thoughts. Sure, I'll take a look :)
YOu caught the creature and his wondering mind! Very original poem!
Great to hear, man--sometimes, we get lucky :) Thanks, for reading.
I lost my Rosary in a recent move. I still say the Rosary every morning and every night. I pray to Mary, Mother of Christ, that someone will take pity and my Rosary will be found. Thank you for being here when I am in pain.
Sorry to hear it, and hope your Rosary finds you.
_/|\_thanks for hope
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Rosary beads help Catholics count their prayers. More importantly, Catholics pray the rosary as a means of entreaty to ask God for a special favor, such as helping a loved one recover from an illness, or to thank God for blessings received
Thank you, for that, @healthblogs (my wife is Catholic). I hope it's not blasphemous that I'm saying in my post that words/poetry can do that, too.