fragments II

When a poem can’t quite make it as a poem, and does not become, is not renewed in a clash too pertinent to the veins at which it tugs, well, it becomes a fragment. A fragment is not a poem. A fragment is a non-poem in place of an object in need to be left alone. A fragment is a not a wound and not a scar, and while a poem becomes brutally and permits itself to remain becoming, a fragment haunts us in its stillness, in its mockery, in its disinterest. A fragment thus is not a lesser poem, but rather a crack in a lesser heart that lacks the poetry of becoming.

Published by João-Maria

A tick clinging to the bristles of a purple boar.

24 thoughts on “fragments II

    1. I have a tremendous fear of being quoted, which is fun for someone who publishes things online. It’s a bit like hearing one’s own voice in a recording. The cringe of it.
      Thank you so much for passing by, Woodsy. It’s always exactly as it should be.


  1. A unique and profound vision of Autumn…as something wishing to be alive…to be personified. As always your word choices and imagery so rich, I delight in rushing for my thesaurus, when I see a post from you. And, the vividness of your images such as…

    “dream anclastic spurred from…thistles” –

    – A treasure.

    I like too your elevated ode to the life of poetic fragments, giving our poetic chards, their due. Thank you!. It is always refeshing to experience your writings. Cheers ❤👍👍🙏

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Autumn is that: something wishing to be alive, but something denied the chance of living. I do love my personifications; they are my fondest style.
      I am so happy that I refresh you. That is my favoured compliment. I’d rather be renewing and inspiring than anything else. And thank you so much, Suzette, I do adore your presence.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. You are most deservedly welcome indeed
        You express so beautifully the same sentiments that I experience
        You too are marvellous
        It is a joy to be able to share our musings with others the world over

        Liked by 1 person

    1. Was not aware of gelidly until I typed it down, that I promise. I was given no warning of a typo, so I assume it much exists. If not, it does so now.
      I’ve been working much on pace; it’s my most juvenile obsession. Thank you so much, Nick, and a happy new year to you too; I’m sure it will be.


  2. “Conscience of previousness / is to return empty-handed” is a excellent line. And I would argue that your fragments would stand up as poems, if not for your musing on the difference between a poem and a fragment. Which is excellent too.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I was fortunate to overhear a conversation in University regarding the status of fishermen in Northern Portugal; someone said something along of the lines of “My father was a fisherman, and my mother said we had to be brave if he brought nothing home.”; to return empty-handed. How shameful and defeating a thing, but how necessary for some. We need not be fisherman to know the feeling, we need only have memory.
      I am to invest more in these fragments; I have so many. Thank you so much for reading me, Bob. It truly is an honour.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Joao-Maria, I enjoyed reading these two fragments. I especially enjoyed your note explaining why a fragment is not a poem. The second fragment gave me vivid images of the Shenandoah River in Virginia where I used to spend a lot of time. Both of them gave me a few words to look up. 🙂 I hope all is well with you. Stay safe and be happy!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Google allows me a glimpse of such river, and I must say I envy you. I too spent good amounts of my infancy near rivers, but they were much too reduced. One was but a stream and the other was only six or seven metres wide. Those vast shallow basins filled with hopping rocks and little enclaves are a natural American experience I envy much.
      All is as good as can be, I find. I hope all is well with you too, Cheryl, and my warmest regards.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Sorry, Joao-Maria, that it has taken me so long to read your kind reply. I got quite behind on my emails. Dealing with news of the insurrection at the US Capitol caused me a great deal of stress. I will be happy when the inauguration is over, hopefully without further incident. All the best!

        Liked by 1 person

  4. My memories are hard to access lately, and I too feel like I’m slowly losing something. That, I don’t know. The first poem reminds me of how I’m trying to remember, but there’s this inability to draw lucid images. It’s like my memory is “Dried parsnips”. And the second fragment, feeling like I am autumn, it’s like something in me is slowly waning. Something is slowly dying. It’s hard to say what. I had read Edmnund Spencer’s the Fairy Queen, and I read the first canto where the Red Cross Knight gets enveloped by Morpheus, but before hat he was drawn into Morpheus’ cabin, where there was nothing entertaining. The chapter was relating to hypocrisy, and recently I’m reading Walt Whitman, and I’m realizing—slowly at least—that it’s my hypocrisy that’s dying. My faith is stronger than it ever has been, but the feeling of self righteousness is slowly slipping away, like your fragment about Autumn. I’m beginning to really meditate on Jesus’ words about judging others.

    Liked by 2 people

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