Wow. I will read this many more times. Your interlude only enhanced the poem, as I believe was partly your intention, aside from genuinely being thankful. One of the best things I've read in a long time. Thank you.
Also, if you don't mind, I got halfway through and felt a deep urge to write something on the theme of falling, unrelated to Tetris.
I have a few relevant lines and metaphors from previous pieces that I could build off; that's what made me consider the idea. This poem no doubt is an inspiration.
Inspiring another poem is the highest compliment for a poem. Thank you for saying so! Your comment is actually inspiring me to want to write a poem about rising. An insane poem about how Tetris is actually an illusion and falling is only a mirage and we're all continually rising the whole time!
I'm glad you liked the interlude. I wasn't sure it was the right move. I am genuinely grateful to any readers, but I also wanted to try to somehow escalate the poem by trying to "ruin" it by shoehorning in a commentary in the middle of it, which is usually ill-advised. If it made the poem better then that's awesome. Sometimes adding insane or unexpected asides to a poem is how I save the poem from imploding under the forces of my own judgment... in any case I am specifically grateful to you Corey for taking the time to comment so thoughtfully.
Yeah, when I first hit the interlude, I was like, ehh, what’s he doing here? But when reading the next sentence, I pivoted to a “Wait a second. This … this is working. This is great. Somehow it fits snuggly right in there.” Once the poem picks back up, its power seems heightened by the interlude. Well done. It is hard to convey gratitude without sounding like you just repeating ready-made phrases. So I think interrupting your poem to express gratitude showed just how serious you were. Something like that. I'm typing too fast.
I like the idea of your writing a poem contrary to this one. As somebody commented on the restack, “Sometimes you have to shake up the board.”
I’m excited to write my next poem—something something, falling—or whatever that lyrical mess is I write.
Mark, through my lens, this is a fascinating montage describing the *physical* state of being human. As a nurse, I've directly observed, inside and outside, bodies are basically the same. Like Tetris blocks in their falling? Yes. We all have 100% chance of dying. Most of us follow a very predictable course of eventual decline. Bodies are temporary. We are all visitors in this world--and all equally present in Time.
What I love best about your poem is not what it describes (wow, your imagery is hypnotic and surprising) but what it hints at-- which is the mystery, power, and grace of the human soul/consciousness.
I see it here:
"The greatest and rarest thing in Tetris occurs when you manipulate a piece so it lands in such a way as to clear a line that also clears the whole field of play — **leaving for a moment** before the next form descends, a landscape of **pristine emptiness that represents maximum detachment** from the built-up gunk of the past."
What is this moment? Where did all the pieces go? For me, this is how I feel-- for just a second or two at a time-- when I practice contemplative prayer. My "Tetris piece" disappears, the whole field clears, for just a flash: an indescribable feeling of bliss and ease. Almost like falling, but without fear. I'm still me, but without the constraint of a physical shape.
Mark, I love how you reveal something of the nature of your own soul in the interlude. Your gratitude is clear and palpable. Thank you for sharing your work.
Thank you for this lovely interpretation, Ann. I loved hearing about how your experience as a nurse meets up with the ideas in this poem. And your contemplative prayer and how it reflects that moment when you clear a line that clears the whole field of play. And thank you for your most generous interpretation of the poem "interlude." Maybe all my poems from now on should have authorial interludes, lol. It was a fun mode to write in. Strange how poetry frees us to say some things and then locks up other things that seem only sayable in direct-to-reader interludes. Anyway, many blessings to you, Ann. I read this comment in bed and it made me want to get up and get the day going.
Wow. I will read this many more times. Your interlude only enhanced the poem, as I believe was partly your intention, aside from genuinely being thankful. One of the best things I've read in a long time. Thank you.
Also, if you don't mind, I got halfway through and felt a deep urge to write something on the theme of falling, unrelated to Tetris.
Corey, you should do that.
I have a few relevant lines and metaphors from previous pieces that I could build off; that's what made me consider the idea. This poem no doubt is an inspiration.
I love how creative energy works like that.
It is a powerful thing.
Inspiring another poem is the highest compliment for a poem. Thank you for saying so! Your comment is actually inspiring me to want to write a poem about rising. An insane poem about how Tetris is actually an illusion and falling is only a mirage and we're all continually rising the whole time!
I'm glad you liked the interlude. I wasn't sure it was the right move. I am genuinely grateful to any readers, but I also wanted to try to somehow escalate the poem by trying to "ruin" it by shoehorning in a commentary in the middle of it, which is usually ill-advised. If it made the poem better then that's awesome. Sometimes adding insane or unexpected asides to a poem is how I save the poem from imploding under the forces of my own judgment... in any case I am specifically grateful to you Corey for taking the time to comment so thoughtfully.
Yeah, when I first hit the interlude, I was like, ehh, what’s he doing here? But when reading the next sentence, I pivoted to a “Wait a second. This … this is working. This is great. Somehow it fits snuggly right in there.” Once the poem picks back up, its power seems heightened by the interlude. Well done. It is hard to convey gratitude without sounding like you just repeating ready-made phrases. So I think interrupting your poem to express gratitude showed just how serious you were. Something like that. I'm typing too fast.
I like the idea of your writing a poem contrary to this one. As somebody commented on the restack, “Sometimes you have to shake up the board.”
I’m excited to write my next poem—something something, falling—or whatever that lyrical mess is I write.
Thanks again for sharing this poem.
Mark, through my lens, this is a fascinating montage describing the *physical* state of being human. As a nurse, I've directly observed, inside and outside, bodies are basically the same. Like Tetris blocks in their falling? Yes. We all have 100% chance of dying. Most of us follow a very predictable course of eventual decline. Bodies are temporary. We are all visitors in this world--and all equally present in Time.
What I love best about your poem is not what it describes (wow, your imagery is hypnotic and surprising) but what it hints at-- which is the mystery, power, and grace of the human soul/consciousness.
I see it here:
"The greatest and rarest thing in Tetris occurs when you manipulate a piece so it lands in such a way as to clear a line that also clears the whole field of play — **leaving for a moment** before the next form descends, a landscape of **pristine emptiness that represents maximum detachment** from the built-up gunk of the past."
What is this moment? Where did all the pieces go? For me, this is how I feel-- for just a second or two at a time-- when I practice contemplative prayer. My "Tetris piece" disappears, the whole field clears, for just a flash: an indescribable feeling of bliss and ease. Almost like falling, but without fear. I'm still me, but without the constraint of a physical shape.
Mark, I love how you reveal something of the nature of your own soul in the interlude. Your gratitude is clear and palpable. Thank you for sharing your work.
Thank you for this lovely interpretation, Ann. I loved hearing about how your experience as a nurse meets up with the ideas in this poem. And your contemplative prayer and how it reflects that moment when you clear a line that clears the whole field of play. And thank you for your most generous interpretation of the poem "interlude." Maybe all my poems from now on should have authorial interludes, lol. It was a fun mode to write in. Strange how poetry frees us to say some things and then locks up other things that seem only sayable in direct-to-reader interludes. Anyway, many blessings to you, Ann. I read this comment in bed and it made me want to get up and get the day going.
Get out there man! 👊💛