Here is a little background of the poem. I find that I do some of my most creative thinking either while in the shower or in the moments right before I go to sleep. My explanation for this phenomenon is, after much deliberation, because a person’s mind is most relaxed at these times. At these times, I am not trying to concentrate on any one thing; rather, if I try to concentrate on anything, I generally end up thinking about something completely different. One night, I was in the shower at one in the morning and I was inspired to write a story, so I wrote for an hour. I was really tired that night so the shower added to my sleep-induced creativity and created a story. This example is just one of many of what showers and sleep do to a person. The poem came to fruition at one in the morning on a different night when I was chatting with my best friend over Facebook. I was extremely tired a very close to falling asleep on my desk. As we were about to say goodnight, I thought of some interesting words that explained how tired I was and I (misspelling “whither” as “wither”) typed “wither are you pillow/ I search for you this night”. After I wrote those words, I kept thinking of lines to add and I ended up typing almost a page of lines to my friend. I copied and pasted all of the lines onto a document and went promptly to bed. It wasn’t until recently that I again found the poem and realized that somehow I had written what I perceive as the state of mind for a person who is unable to sleep. Everything about the poem, from the visual aspects to the sentence structure and context, fit the strange theme of a man’s raging mind as he is unable to fall asleep.
The first way I made the poem signify the theme of a man’s struggle to go to sleep lies in the overall visuals of the piece. As the poem progresses, the literal width of the lines gradually shorten. This decrease of size is to show that as the man’s mind continues to lament his inability to sleep, his thoughts shorten and he gets closer and closer to sleep as time wastes away. The effect emulates the peculiar way that right before sleep, people start thinking less and less until they find themselves waking up with no clue what the last thought was that they had the night before. While the poem does have a gradual decrease of width, it also has little valleys in the lines that increase the similarities that the poem has to actual sleep. The valleys represent the brief periods during the process of going to sleep that men drift off for a few moments before being abruptly pulled back to full consciousness. At the end, the poem hits a set of lines that reach a certain length and stop shortening. This visual aspect shows how the thoughts before finally sleeping don’t actually dwindle all the way to nothing; rather, they suddenly cut off at a certain point when sleep takes over.
Another visual aspect that contributes to the overall theme is the number of large words that the poem contains throughout its length. As the poem progresses, multi-syllable words slowly get less abundant and the words in general get shorter and simpler until the end of the poem when the words are mostly one-syllable each. The effect this dwindling word pattern causes emulates the complexity of thoughts as a person tries to sleep. Early on in the poem, words such as “fallow” and “disillusionment” appear. Towards the end, however, the only difficult words appearing are either repeats of words previously said in the poem such as “impudence” or words that seem randomly placed within the poem such as “spinning” or “existence”. When a man first goes to bed, his mind is a roiling mass of thoughts about his day or his problems. When he gets closer to sleep, his mind isn’t as coherent and his thoughts tend to shorten. Unbidden and random thoughts start to pop up until he finally gives out to sleep at the end.
Along with the complexity of the words, the complexity of the sentences dies down as the poem progresses. In the beginning of the poem almost every line is a metaphor or requires some thought to figure out. Towards the end, however, the lines become less complex and more confusing. The reader still has to try to think about what the lines mean, but they will find that the lines make sense only to a small degree towards the end. Early in the poem the reader can figure out that the line, “Yet in the dark it shall keep me wasting till I find truth in the eyes of my sheets” means that the man will lay there while his mind and body get more tired and that there is nothing he can do about it until he finally sleeps. In contrast however, finding meaning in the line, “Will you continue your deadly existence in my years” becomes significantly harder and just seems to be a jumble of thoughts. This line structure relates directly with the coherence that a man’s mind holds in the time before he finally sleeps.
The train of thoughts that the poem follows provides the most valuable insight to the overall theme of the poem. In the beginning of the poem, a very coherent string of thoughts contain the information that the speaker is unable to fall asleep. The speaker is very metaphorical in his sleep-related observations. He talks about looking for his pillow to counter his soul’s wish to “take flight” and keep the man awake. He tells the reader that his soul will keep him awake all night (“fallow the fields of night’s everlasting soil”) until his body can’t hold out and falls asleep (“lazily dead”) for a few hours until “morning’s light brings to life those it has seen unmoving in bed” and his day has to begin. Then the change from coherence to non-coherence starts to take place and the man’s thoughts turn to more abstract ideas of “dreams” and “regrets”. After the first large valley in the poem when the man calls out to his pillow again, he has a jolt back to wakefulness but with a slightly foggier mind. At this point, he addresses the pillow to tell it that he finds the pillow a “portal” to fitful sleep and then proceeds to go off on a tangent and discuss the nature of his sleep as hounded by strange dreams and fantasies. The lines here paint a confusing picture with their somewhat metaphorical nature. When the man says that he “hears the flowing honey of the whispering trees rattle and shake”, he is describing his fitful dreams as sweet bliss (honey) that is marred by the discordant rattling and shaking of his vision. The line immediately after shows the man slipping further into sleep when he says, “I see your wisdom flow like goats down the hills of Gilead”. This line is not a direct quote, but it does paint the same picture that a similar line in the Song of Songs book from the Bible paints about a flock of goats from Gilead. The sleepier the man becomes the more random thoughts he pulls into his mind from outside sources. This point is ever more apparent in a later line when he says, “But when you come over and see tips of the ice crashing on the deck”. While the line does not immediately reveal its hidden secrets, after some thought, faint conclusions that the line is alluding to Titanic and its fateful journey can be drawn. The ice crashing on the deck is from the iceberg that the ship hit on its maiden journey and the line is meant to symbolize ultimate downfall and ruin. At this point in his thoughts, the man stops himself with, “No more, no more” and continues on to ask his pillow if it will allow him to finally sleep. The man jolts from this second valley and again finds he is unable to sleep. The poem takes a turn towards the more abstract here and the man begins to rave at his condition. He speaks of someone or something that will help him. He doesn’t know who or what, but he gives it hope that he will be able to sleep before revealing that he is giving up his fight with the words, “Shall I allow or allow such impudence”. He is not even thinking that he has a choice to rein in his thoughts at this point. He then hits another valley and doesn’t pull out of it as far as the last three times and instead is half-asleep while he starts spouting nonsense. At the end he finds himself drifting to sleep and says, “you will not allow such impudence” to signify that he realizes that he is finally able to find sleep and echoes the words, “no more” one after another to show that he has finally gone to sleep.
Through the content and context of the poem, I set up a passage through which the theme of a man’s struggle to sleep could be realized. I then added the visualization and sentence structure to fully bring out the theme. The poem does not rhyme, nor does it follow any regular template that poems usually do follow. Instead, I made it a mixture of words and metaphorical pictures that would also attribute to its theme. Although reading the poem might not yield the facts and observations presented, even a basic reading can bring out the poem’s theme. Additionally, once the observations presented are found, the theme is only further emphasized. Having been written at one in the morning, the poem is based on my own thoughts and is a direct representation of my own state of mind from that night. Shortly after the poem was finished, I found my pillow and it gave me sweet refuge among its feathers.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Wither are you Pillow
Hey I know I haven't written in a while.... sorry. But here is a poem for you to enjoy since I need to give you something. Comment on what you think it means and explain if you feel like it. Whoever has the closest meaning to mine, or, whoever makes me change my mind about what it means will receive....nothing....sorry, I am a poor writer, can't offer anything. Anyways here you go!
Wither are you Pillow
Ai Wrotonov Ell
Whither are you pillow
I search for you this night
As my soul yearns to take flight
Should I allow or disallow such impudence from my soul?
To fallow the fields of the night's everlasting soil
And to fall lazily dead till the mornings light brings to life those it has seen unmoving in bed
But my soul not yearns for sleep
Yet in the dark it shall keep me wasting till I find truth in the eyes of my sheets
Memories of days gone by and yet to come drift among the sullen shadows of my mind,
To again create their worlds of deprivation and disillusionment.
Alas, my soul wins over my withering body
Wither my pillow
Come to me yet
See how I find your feathers a portal to realms not of my own fantasies
But that of the dreams of men and demons jumbled in a humming throng of decay
And hear the flowing honey of the whispering trees rattle and shake
I see your wisdom flow like goats down the hills of Gilead
Lulling even the deepest regrets back to their resenting caves
But when you come over and see tips of the ice crashing on the floor
No more, no more
Will you join me in my dance with life?
With strife?
Do you find the connection appalling?
But no more, no more
Hark, the word Harold, the man, the letter H for all commands
Bring him to me, in my bed, in my dreams, in my head brimming this night
For he shall set free the beasts lurking
Create a new universe to sing of the vanquished pain of eternity,
And join the troops most gallant in their fight for the troubled few
Shall I allow or allow such impudence from my soul?
Wither my pillow
Wither and die no more
But shall I fight on;
Shall this night hold no grudge?
Corrupt though it may seem to the hereafter
Should I acquit this night, quit this night?
When the world will just keep spinning if I stop
But, my heart, will you spin,
Will you continue your deadly existence in my years?
No more, no more
You will not give up,
You will not allow such impudence
For you are me my soul is you
Wither my Pillow
Die not this night
And live no more
No more, no more
Wither are you Pillow
Ai Wrotonov Ell
Whither are you pillow
I search for you this night
As my soul yearns to take flight
Should I allow or disallow such impudence from my soul?
To fallow the fields of the night's everlasting soil
And to fall lazily dead till the mornings light brings to life those it has seen unmoving in bed
But my soul not yearns for sleep
Yet in the dark it shall keep me wasting till I find truth in the eyes of my sheets
Memories of days gone by and yet to come drift among the sullen shadows of my mind,
To again create their worlds of deprivation and disillusionment.
Alas, my soul wins over my withering body
Wither my pillow
Come to me yet
See how I find your feathers a portal to realms not of my own fantasies
But that of the dreams of men and demons jumbled in a humming throng of decay
And hear the flowing honey of the whispering trees rattle and shake
I see your wisdom flow like goats down the hills of Gilead
Lulling even the deepest regrets back to their resenting caves
But when you come over and see tips of the ice crashing on the floor
No more, no more
Will you join me in my dance with life?
With strife?
Do you find the connection appalling?
But no more, no more
Hark, the word Harold, the man, the letter H for all commands
Bring him to me, in my bed, in my dreams, in my head brimming this night
For he shall set free the beasts lurking
Create a new universe to sing of the vanquished pain of eternity,
And join the troops most gallant in their fight for the troubled few
Shall I allow or allow such impudence from my soul?
Wither my pillow
Wither and die no more
But shall I fight on;
Shall this night hold no grudge?
Corrupt though it may seem to the hereafter
Should I acquit this night, quit this night?
When the world will just keep spinning if I stop
But, my heart, will you spin,
Will you continue your deadly existence in my years?
No more, no more
You will not give up,
You will not allow such impudence
For you are me my soul is you
Wither my Pillow
Die not this night
And live no more
No more, no more
Saturday, June 5, 2010
The Flow of Conversation
Right now, I am reading Wicked, the blasphemous book that supposedly ruins "The Wizard of Oz". Now that I have finished the...interesting.... first section (those of you who have read it know well of what I am alluding to), I am starting to enjoy the story. It is a well thought out interpretation of Oz. Little snippets pop up here and there that are quite deep. Mostly I would pass over them with little thought or the occasional, "hmmm, that's nice" or, "hmmm, hadn't thought of that." Then I ran into one sentence that perfectly explains one of the things that I have been trying to explain about myself for years. The sentence goes like this:
"Galinda didn't often stop to consider whether she believed in what she said or not; the whole point of conversation was the flow."
In an earlier post I had said that I would come up with ideas as I was speaking or writing, that was not entirely true. I have to be speaking with someone or chatting with someone online for the ideas to flow. Peculiar. I have always tried to figure out why this anomaly occurred. This sentence seems to have answered that, sure I come up with ideas, but they are ideas that I had never thought about within myself, much less figured out if I believed them.
For example; one day I was talking with, for the sake of ambiguity, Bobette (a girl). We were talking about the Trinity and souls and minds and all that good stuff after she read the bit in Chapter One about listening to the mind. Writing that bit, I had made it seem as if the mind and self were two separate entities. While explaining this to Bobette, I started spouting stuff about the human body, soul, and mind being separate and coinciding with the Holy Trinity; the soul is like the Holy Spirit, the Body in like the Son, and the Mind is like the Father. Then, on a whim and with no forethought, said that this was so because God made Man in his image, thus with three separate parts. I talked to someone later about this and gave up the notion for a reason that at the time was a good one but I can't for the life of me remember what the heck it was. The point is, however, that entire idea was formed as I talked. Why? Looking back, I wanted to keep the flow of the conversation intact. The train was to stay on track and endure to its destination.
Have you ever started a conversation with one subject and ended with a subject completely unrelated, then, just for kicks, followed your conversation backwards to see the progression? I have, and some of the things that can be associated with each other are pretty wild. It all has to do with Flow. One subject leads to another leads to another leads to another. No one wants to stay on one subject if a new one has already been started. Flow, it makes you think of previously un-conceived notions and relate completely unrelated subjects.
Yet, in my opinion, flow is a purely aesthetic facet of conversation. It is merely something that is pleasing to the ear. Ideas and Expressions can live on without it, yet have an easier time coming across with it.the nursery rhyme "Hey Diddle Diddle" is an apt example.
The dish ran away with the spoon
The little dog laughed to see such fun
The Cat and the Fiddle
The Cow jumped over the moon
Hey Diddle Diddle
Here, you see that all of the images in the rhyme are there, yet, it doesn't seem right. It's a mish-mosh of unrelated images. But when put back into normal order;
Hey diddle diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon,
The little dog laughed to see such fun,
And the dish ran away with the spoon.
The rhyme seems to make sense, all of the images are in some way associated with each other. The Flow makes all the difference. The rhyming and the syllables change the flow into a murmuring brook instead of a stagnant puddle getting churned by every car that happens to pass through it.
Even this blog post has surprised me with its flow. I started from a sentence in a book and ended with some nursery rhyme. I had not planned any of this beforehand, it just seemed to fit together. Now that I have typed all this, I'm not quite sure if I believe it myself. I think I do, but that's just because I came up with it in accordance to the flow of the piece.I guess I'll ruminate on it without the flow messing with me to see if any of this actually makes the least bit of sense. Until Next time;
Ai W. Ell
"Galinda didn't often stop to consider whether she believed in what she said or not; the whole point of conversation was the flow."
In an earlier post I had said that I would come up with ideas as I was speaking or writing, that was not entirely true. I have to be speaking with someone or chatting with someone online for the ideas to flow. Peculiar. I have always tried to figure out why this anomaly occurred. This sentence seems to have answered that, sure I come up with ideas, but they are ideas that I had never thought about within myself, much less figured out if I believed them.
For example; one day I was talking with, for the sake of ambiguity, Bobette (a girl). We were talking about the Trinity and souls and minds and all that good stuff after she read the bit in Chapter One about listening to the mind. Writing that bit, I had made it seem as if the mind and self were two separate entities. While explaining this to Bobette, I started spouting stuff about the human body, soul, and mind being separate and coinciding with the Holy Trinity; the soul is like the Holy Spirit, the Body in like the Son, and the Mind is like the Father. Then, on a whim and with no forethought, said that this was so because God made Man in his image, thus with three separate parts. I talked to someone later about this and gave up the notion for a reason that at the time was a good one but I can't for the life of me remember what the heck it was. The point is, however, that entire idea was formed as I talked. Why? Looking back, I wanted to keep the flow of the conversation intact. The train was to stay on track and endure to its destination.
Have you ever started a conversation with one subject and ended with a subject completely unrelated, then, just for kicks, followed your conversation backwards to see the progression? I have, and some of the things that can be associated with each other are pretty wild. It all has to do with Flow. One subject leads to another leads to another leads to another. No one wants to stay on one subject if a new one has already been started. Flow, it makes you think of previously un-conceived notions and relate completely unrelated subjects.
Yet, in my opinion, flow is a purely aesthetic facet of conversation. It is merely something that is pleasing to the ear. Ideas and Expressions can live on without it, yet have an easier time coming across with it.the nursery rhyme "Hey Diddle Diddle" is an apt example.
The dish ran away with the spoon
The little dog laughed to see such fun
The Cat and the Fiddle
The Cow jumped over the moon
Hey Diddle Diddle
Here, you see that all of the images in the rhyme are there, yet, it doesn't seem right. It's a mish-mosh of unrelated images. But when put back into normal order;
Hey diddle diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon,
The little dog laughed to see such fun,
And the dish ran away with the spoon.
The rhyme seems to make sense, all of the images are in some way associated with each other. The Flow makes all the difference. The rhyming and the syllables change the flow into a murmuring brook instead of a stagnant puddle getting churned by every car that happens to pass through it.
Even this blog post has surprised me with its flow. I started from a sentence in a book and ended with some nursery rhyme. I had not planned any of this beforehand, it just seemed to fit together. Now that I have typed all this, I'm not quite sure if I believe it myself. I think I do, but that's just because I came up with it in accordance to the flow of the piece.I guess I'll ruminate on it without the flow messing with me to see if any of this actually makes the least bit of sense. Until Next time;
Ai W. Ell
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Chapter One
>-----And with this kis- Brahhhhh! Brahhhh!! Brahhhh!!!!!"That's IT!!" I started, the shouted thought reverberating in the empty corridors of my mind, causing such a roar in my half-drunken-with-sleep soul that I forgot for a moment entirely what my mind was yelling at. Then I resumed, "Today is the day that i will rid myself of that blasted alarm clock!" I got up, shut off the blaring siren, put on my pants, and left the noise demon on its ledge above my pillow. I didn't really want to dispose of it, I liked it and it like me. We have an understanding; it would ensure that I hadn't died in the night and I wouldn't obliterate it once I had once again been shattered to consciousness.
>-----I left my annoying friend in my room as I groggily ambled my beaten path to the loo room. I saw myself in the mirror. "I ought to shave my head completely." Reality was slowly sifting back into my mind like rays of light in a shady grove, crowding it to make it slight less cavernous. I picked at a piece of short, curly brown hair that for all the world looked like the well-used and spilled upon rug on the floor of some hippie's van. The likeness reinforced by the shimmering oil and not-so-shimmering grime build-up that results in a two-day absence of bathing. "Next on the list."
>-----I took off my pants and underwear and stepped (crouched) into my human (bug)-sized shower. I had already turned the knob before I realized my deadly mistake, I had given the plumbing no chance to heat up after another below-freezing night. I stood in frigid anguish as I thought of recent temperatures. "Ahhh, a reason for me to keep this bush on my head." It's not that I hate cold weather, it keeps creatures that I don't particularly like in their dens- but why does it have to be so-HOT. I forgot to balance the knobs and the plumbing had heated up. My thoughts, derailed, resumed. "Why can't there be a season in which unfriendly critters stay away so that I can enjoy a nice stroll through the woods without fear of ambush?" Critters are actually smarter than they let on. Since I know this they know I know this, someday they are going to ambush me.
>-----I knew what the sensation was before I felt it. I had been so caught up in ambush that I had all but forgotten.... that I HAD forgotten to shut my eyes while shampooing my hippie carpet. Now suds had found my weakness and were attacking with everything they had. I imagined my epic battle with them being told for many generations, "Take that Villain!!" as i held my eyes open to the streaming water. That's another thing, why can't they make a decent soap that doesn't try to murder you? "Can't have your cake and eat it too," I muttered. Peculiar. How had that singular statement come into existence? Did people just try things and then format the results of their findings in catchy saying? If so, how had this particular cake expert failed? How did he make a cake and then fail to- "Shut it." My mind,"Too many thoughts, I don't want any more for awhile." My mind is a jerk and won't leave me be unless I grant its every whim, so I stopped thinking. I tried to survive the rest of my cleaning without the companionship of my mind. People would argue that I shouldn't let my mind boss me around, but I disagree. It is in such tenuous bonds as these that the best method to obtain maximum efficiency is to let it be and rest so that once needed, it comes "amicably" without being pre-strained.
>-----The cleaning complete, I found new clothes to done and ended up in front of the mirror again. I tasted the previous day in my mouth. The food I had eaten had settled quite comfortably in my buds and now defiled my favorite sense. I reached for my toothbrush, a very close friend, and thinking on the events of the day before, I remembered an event that filled my heart with much gladness. "Today my friend," to the toothbrush, "is a glorious day indeed. Today i am privileged with the opening of a new tube of toothpaste!" My friend smiled back in unmoving reflection of my joy.
>-----I left my annoying friend in my room as I groggily ambled my beaten path to the loo room. I saw myself in the mirror. "I ought to shave my head completely." Reality was slowly sifting back into my mind like rays of light in a shady grove, crowding it to make it slight less cavernous. I picked at a piece of short, curly brown hair that for all the world looked like the well-used and spilled upon rug on the floor of some hippie's van. The likeness reinforced by the shimmering oil and not-so-shimmering grime build-up that results in a two-day absence of bathing. "Next on the list."
>-----I took off my pants and underwear and stepped (crouched) into my human (bug)-sized shower. I had already turned the knob before I realized my deadly mistake, I had given the plumbing no chance to heat up after another below-freezing night. I stood in frigid anguish as I thought of recent temperatures. "Ahhh, a reason for me to keep this bush on my head." It's not that I hate cold weather, it keeps creatures that I don't particularly like in their dens- but why does it have to be so-HOT. I forgot to balance the knobs and the plumbing had heated up. My thoughts, derailed, resumed. "Why can't there be a season in which unfriendly critters stay away so that I can enjoy a nice stroll through the woods without fear of ambush?" Critters are actually smarter than they let on. Since I know this they know I know this, someday they are going to ambush me.
>-----I knew what the sensation was before I felt it. I had been so caught up in ambush that I had all but forgotten.... that I HAD forgotten to shut my eyes while shampooing my hippie carpet. Now suds had found my weakness and were attacking with everything they had. I imagined my epic battle with them being told for many generations, "Take that Villain!!" as i held my eyes open to the streaming water. That's another thing, why can't they make a decent soap that doesn't try to murder you? "Can't have your cake and eat it too," I muttered. Peculiar. How had that singular statement come into existence? Did people just try things and then format the results of their findings in catchy saying? If so, how had this particular cake expert failed? How did he make a cake and then fail to- "Shut it." My mind,"Too many thoughts, I don't want any more for awhile." My mind is a jerk and won't leave me be unless I grant its every whim, so I stopped thinking. I tried to survive the rest of my cleaning without the companionship of my mind. People would argue that I shouldn't let my mind boss me around, but I disagree. It is in such tenuous bonds as these that the best method to obtain maximum efficiency is to let it be and rest so that once needed, it comes "amicably" without being pre-strained.
>-----The cleaning complete, I found new clothes to done and ended up in front of the mirror again. I tasted the previous day in my mouth. The food I had eaten had settled quite comfortably in my buds and now defiled my favorite sense. I reached for my toothbrush, a very close friend, and thinking on the events of the day before, I remembered an event that filled my heart with much gladness. "Today my friend," to the toothbrush, "is a glorious day indeed. Today i am privileged with the opening of a new tube of toothpaste!" My friend smiled back in unmoving reflection of my joy.
I'm gonna make this up as I type, that generally works...
Hey there! I generally don't have any deep thoughts unless I am already talking about them. Confused? I guess I should say that I tend to have these deep and intellectual thoughts as I talk or type. Strange huh? I am usually at my thinkiest while talking, while I'm in the shower, or right before I lose consciousness at night. Yet, catch me in the middle of the day and...nothing. poof, all thoughts are either leading to food or sleep, or Gustav, my unicycle. Now that I think about it, I can also think between 12 am and 3 am. Later if I can stay in the state of the "waking sleep". I wrote Chapter one to my story between 1 am and 2 am after a lengthy shower. Pretty neat if you ask me, but ever so annoying if you happen to like sleep.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Hey there people who actually spend time reading blogs
Hey ya'll (excuse my verbal defecation for using such a word, but there aren't many choices to address a plural number of people in second person), this is Ai. Full name : Ai Wrotonov Ell. I am currently writing a story titled the Toothed-Paste Man and I am going to use this unused blog to post my random ideas when I want that will hopefully aid my writing. I hope you will find enjoyment in reading them as I found enjoyment in writing them. Or not, the choice is yours. Chapter one is finished and i hope to continue writing soon.
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