unfading Suzanne.

My photos aren’t as magical as yours, Suzanne, but since this post is about you, I felt I had to use my own.

With some obliquitous regularity, any graphomaniac, any dilettante under the school of words, is bound to think about which space within that school lies vacant for occupancy; what position can we inhabit in order to be visible — not just to others — but also visible to ourselves. When I think of WordPress and how it managed to collect such a magnificently diverse constellation of poets, it is complicated to dispense the thought that WordPress is not a book or a publication, nor is it an amphitheater, nor similar to anything previously responsible for disseminating the Art of Poetry; however, inasmuch as our mediums were shaped by the Art conveyed, so was the Art modified by the mediums it made use of.

I could write an essay on how WordPress changed the modern scope of poetic expression, how the intricate osmosis between various readily-accessible and social poets facilitates a type of distillation of symbols which provides such a rich soundscape, a visual and guttural interactivity reminiscent of older literary circles without the strain of exclusivity. How it manages to contrast so well with some of the corralled, anchorite poetry of yore. But I’m no good at essays, so I shall provide example:

«I often write things
that I fear are not worth reading
so, I tuck them neatly away
fragile thoughts folded in upon themselves
the words fade and the pages yellow
as a memory floats into view.

Suzanne, Tucked Away

Suzanne is, in my earnest vision, one of the maximum exponents in regards to blog-formed poetry; her diary-shaped thoughts, intimate and percolated through filters of naturalism and sentimental realism, act as a spatter of light over large sheets of luminous blue taffeta; her poems, thronged with both unbridled lyricism and the closeness of a tryst with emotions, exist as imponent bridges between the I living and the I creating, and fit the medium of WordPress so meticulously that I truly couldn’t imagine them anywhere else, feeling almost carved from the stone itself from which this community was made. She exists as a siren of fortitude, a wondrous being that does not resist the churning and turning of days, but slithers through them, collecting what in them means most, and touches most.

«One needn’t have an hourglass
To forever turn
And so command the moments
Within your heart to always burn
As the minutes and the hours fall
Joy and sorrow, both therein
We seek to collect them each around us
In a vain attempt to hold too many all at once
It is a fearful thing, this holding
And we begin to suffer from the force of it»

Suzanne, If You Have a Heart To Love.

There is an immense talent in creating denotation without it feeling overly astringent, Art which I’m yet to master and often couldn’t feel more distant of doing so. Suzanne, however, manages not only that, but also a verse structure that unfurls extemporaneously, with a tune unchained of truisms but still intimately open, so that all of us can drink from it without muddying the pool. Still, it fiddles with the perennial depths of human experience, it does not shy from agonic draws, it does not shy from pain or the cruel beauty of that pain. It is not deceptively positive or stylistically negative, it’s intimate and… experienced, truthful to a point of combustion, a signature of gentility inconceivable to the isolated, selves-within-themselves type of creators such as I, but one I’m endlessly grateful for having discovered, and I urge you strenuously to do the same, if you have not.

«Time doesn’t stand still for questions or answers. They are worth wondering over though. There are places and people who do make a difference, even when they don’t know that they do. A single bowl of soup may not feed the world. But, it may open someone’s heart to a lifetime of wondering.»

Suzanne, Live Your Story

Thank you, Suzanne,
you’ve been such a beautiful element of my journey,

Published by João-Maria

A tick clinging to the bristles of a purple boar.

13 thoughts on “unfading Suzanne.

  1. João-Maria, a full day has passed since I first read your beautiful thoughts and I am still trying to know that they are real and for my own writing. How very deeply you have touched my heart. Truly more than I can express. Thank you is not nearly enough. First, I must say that your own photos are perfectly magical with all that you’ve shared. Trains and their stations…I do love them so. Journeys and places of beginnings. And, that must be part of your own lovely countryside, it is like a painting that carries me passed the scent of the flowers into the mountains beyond. But, it is your own dear thoughts so carefully and gently expressed that settle within me. You are a stunning writer well beyond what I will ever be. That you find something worth keeping in my own offerings is so very humbling to me. I will cherish these thoughts of yours always….my kindest and most heartfelt gratitude to you, suzanne 🌷

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Oh, Suzanne, I’m the one that should be grateful. You’ve shown me so much appreciation throughout my times here; you’ve given me so much strength to share, even if entirely disappointed in myself, just to share and let it live. Like your bowl of soup, what you’ve done for me might not seem like much, but, in my view, means the world.
      I’m your eternal admirer. ❤

      Liked by 2 people

    1. Thank you so much, Lia! Suzanne is easy to write about; I’m only resentful I didn’t write more, truly. But I shall have the chance to do so in future.
      Your presence is much appreciated, Lia, thank you dearly.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I think it was perfect as is! I feel the same on my other blog though. That I never wrote enough. But in fact reading others’ work I realize that shorter is usually better and the rest can be said, as you say, in future pieces. xoxo


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