tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post3556895854872379226..comments2023-10-03T11:41:21.191+01:00Comments on The Truth About Lies: DepthJim Murdochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-57053921361465021292014-07-13T18:20:50.766+01:002014-07-13T18:20:50.766+01:00I enjoy you being you, if that helps. :) I enjoy you being you, if that helps. :) Ken Armstronghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-63735654109511909582014-07-13T15:14:07.402+01:002014-07-13T15:14:07.402+01:00A poem or a story is a two-dimensional object, Ken...A poem or a story is a two-dimensional object, <b>Ken</b>, and most people never look below the surface of the words: Such-a-body went here, saw that, did that, came back a changed man. I expect depth is like meaning; both are the province of the reader. Some read deeply and really think about what they’ve read whereas others are content with the gist. The thing about the gisters (hm, have I just invented a new word?) is that they do cover an awful lot of ground and so amass a great deal of superficial—and I don’t mean that to sound insulting—knowledge; they can talk a bit of everything. And <i>breadth</i> of knowledge is not to be sniffed at either. Maybe you can’t have both. Maybe life’s not long enough and you have to decide what kind of person you’re going to be. The older I get and the less time I have to pussyfoot around the more I realise that there are a helluva lot of things in this life that I do not need to know <i>anything</i> about. Or want. Want is probably a better word. Wants imply selfishness but when did selfishness become such a bad thing? (Actually I can quote you chapter and verse but let’s not go there.) I enjoy depth. I enjoy raspberry milkshakes. I don’t always enjoy being me but I’m trying to work on that.Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-75678476088094152852014-07-13T12:20:08.699+01:002014-07-13T12:20:08.699+01:00I think I deal with thought in the way that I deal...I think I deal with thought in the way that I deal with with water. I like to skim along the top of a lot of it quite fast but if I start to sink under the surface of it I start to feel the pressure of it in my nose and ears and have to pop back up again. <br /><br />I do think there's some value in this approach though. For some reason, I'm thinking of life as a zoo and how you can maybe get a better overall impression of the zoo by nipping quickly around it rather than stopping to inspect every little dung heap.<br /><br />I think there's a bit of me in this post and, if that's right (no need to say) thanks for that.<br /><br />We need the deep thinkers too. <br /><br />We need us all. Ken Armstronghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-49474196287403743682014-07-13T11:58:13.641+01:002014-07-13T11:58:13.641+01:00Yes, I do, Kass. I quoted it at the beginning of m...Yes, I do, <b>Kass</b>. I quoted it at the beginning of my <a href="http://jim-murdoch.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/by-all-means.html" rel="nofollow">review</a> of Tim Love’s book <i>By All Means</i>. Superb script.Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-14518900333946705952014-07-12T17:11:19.523+01:002014-07-12T17:11:19.523+01:00I'm still wallowing in deepness (and of course...I'm still wallowing in deepness (and of course I meant "with" instead of "we" in my previous comment).<br /><br />Remember the Dr. Who episode where this was said?: "...sad? Sally Sparrow: It's happy for deep people."Kasshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05233330248952156754noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-32880339034636953742014-07-12T09:54:43.197+01:002014-07-12T09:54:43.197+01:00Wallow is such a lovely word, Kass. When most of u...Wallow is such a lovely word, <b>Kass</b>. When most of us think about it I imagine we think of immobility but when you look at its origins— Old English <i>walwian</i> 'to roll about'—from the Latin <i>volvere</i> 'to roll' (which is where I suppose we get ‘revolve’ from)—it suggests to coat ourselves in whatever we’re a wallowing in. The poetic implications shoot off in all kinds of directions.Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-88582112776267883102014-07-11T16:54:26.616+01:002014-07-11T16:54:26.616+01:00So true about the commonalities we have we coworke...So true about the commonalities we have we coworkers. <br /><br />Love the murky water analogy.<br /><br />"Wallowing in the Deep" - now there's a poem title.Kasshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05233330248952156754noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-16664357699307855282014-07-11T10:29:25.999+01:002014-07-11T10:29:25.999+01:00I’ve met many happy shallow people, Kass. Not so m...I’ve met many happy shallow people, <b>Kass</b>. Not so many happy deep people. But we can’t change who we are. I may not be the happiest person of the planet but without all the deep things that I wallow in I’d be even more miserable. It’s like swimming through murky water. You can’t see more than a few inches in front of you but that doesn’t mean if you just keep going you’re not going to swim into a wreck full of all sorts of interesting treasures. Sitting on the beach sunning yourself is all fine and well but the only thing you’re likely to discover sitting on beaches is that sitting on beaches is bad for you. On the whole I’m quite a tolerant person—I feign intolerance but I’ve put up with quite a lot over the years—and so I can get on with most people for an hour or two. Work is where you have the least control over the company you keep but the nice thing about work is that you have work in common and so that’s what bonds you, that’s what you talk about and it’s not until one of you has left and you meet up afterwards you realise just how little you really have in common.<br /><br />I’m glad you like my poems. I should send more out but the months slip by and the next thing I know it’s been a year since I submitted anything. That said I checked my database yesterday and there were six or seven magazines who’d never bothered replying. So we drew a line through them. Time for another mass submission I think.Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-65886308887472481032014-07-11T02:52:08.108+01:002014-07-11T02:52:08.108+01:00Jim, remember when I wrote a poem about consilienc...Jim, remember when I wrote a poem about consilience and you wrote, "I love the word consilience: everything makes sense but only when you look at everything at the same time. The reason we get ourselves in such a state most of the time is that we only have a few bits of the puzzle."?<br /><br />I once quit being friends with someone because I thought they weren't deep enough. Boring. Shallow. I need to be stimulated by the way someone thinks. Being curious is a great trait, I think. There are so many fascinating things to consider which lead to other interesting things, which remind us of even more curious possibilities.<br /><br />I still like your poetry...a lot. Kasshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05233330248952156754noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-6485543654597071632014-07-07T10:51:15.515+01:002014-07-07T10:51:15.515+01:00Deep is just a word, Gwilliam, and like all other ...Deep is just a word, <b>Gwilliam</b>, and like all other words vague and unhelpful. I don’t think most people give depth much thought at all except in expressions like, “I’m in deep shit.” The older I get the more I’m coming to appreciate how poetic our everyday language is. The real puzzler is that most people turn up their noses at poetry. <br /><br />And, <b>Tim</b>, when people do read poetry I don’t think many are interested in measuring its depth. All they care about is if they’ve got it or not. So I guess the true measure of poetry should be its getableness; no matter how deep or ‘difficult’ if a poem can’t be got—whatever ‘got’ means (I’m not sure its necessarily a synonym for ‘understood’)—then what’s the point? Oddly enough when people use ‘deep’ in this context it’s usually voiced with a slightly approving tone, “Oh, that’s too deep for me.” Depth isn’t looked upon as necessarily a bad thing, just something that’s not for everyone or at least something one needs to prepare oneself for, like putting on a diving suit before get lowered down to investigate an underwater wreck. <br /><br />Of course I raise these issues without really caring about the answer. I don’t care if my poetry’s deep. I care about its meaningfulness and I do like it when I take people into areas they’ve not explored before, make them think a little differently about things they thought they’d a handle on. <br /><br />As far as deep image poetry goes, yes, of course it qualifies. In fact what Bly wrote, "In many ancient works of art we notice a long floating leap from the conscious to the unconscious and back again, a leap from the known part of the mind to the unknown part and back to the known," resonates strongly with me. It’s what I was trying to get at with that last poem. The whole ‘leap of faith’ thing fascinates me in the same way as I suppose sex fascinates a eunuch. <br /><br />As far as Mark Strand goes I don’t know his poetry very well but after reading one of his—Christ knows now which one—I wrote this:<br /><br /> <b>Eating Poetry</b><br /><br /> (after Mark Strand)<br /><br /> I try not to eat poetry:<br /> it tends to give me wind.<br /> <br /> I have trouble with rhymes as well:<br /> they just pass straight through me.<br /> <br /> Metaphors are okay as long <br /> as they’re not extended.<br /> <br /> I am partial to a slice of<br /> onomatopoeia<br /> <br /> but just the one. Any more and<br /> I suffer for my art<br /><br /> if you get my drift.<br /><br /><br /> Thursday, 08 April 2010Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-46590354580263998362014-07-07T09:03:10.655+01:002014-07-07T09:03:10.655+01:00In a recent Poetry Review some of Mark Strand'...In a recent Poetry Review some of Mark Strand's poetry was described as "bogusly gnomic and flippantly inconsequential ... windy and irritating musings", accusations which I find easy to make when told that a poem's deep. <br /><br />"deep" isn't a concept I use much. In chess it has a clear meaning, describing a move whose value only becomes obvious several moves later - initially it might seem inconsequential, strange or even bad. That usage covers some of the easier examples of "deep". <br /><br />I think experience helps when trying to write/read deep stuff. In the past I've tried to identify what "poetic experience" entails. I think the skills required to identify and evaluated consilience (a word I've not heard before but will use henceforth) partly constitute experience, plus the patterns learnt by 10,000 hours of exposure. <br /><br />How about "Deep Image" poetry? Is it deep?<br />Tim Lovehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00578925224900533603noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-5370058113201292582014-07-06T17:58:31.720+01:002014-07-06T17:58:31.720+01:00I don't like deep. Deep is where the monsters ...I don't like deep. Deep is where the monsters are. The nightmares. The voices. Deep is a place to be avoided. We will all be deep one day. About 6 foot under the earth. Gwil Whttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03305768121713053837noreply@blogger.com