"particularities" poems
He’s a ***** of in-
tellectual acumen. A real conveyor of post-modern acuity.
What he has to say doesn’t make sense to me.
No one understands his esoteric complexity.
He speaks of Aristotelian “virtues”, Platonic Forms, and other
“practical” participation by the particularities.
Part of all that not even he fully understands.
Juxtaposing Quniean “webs of Knowledge” with Davidson Coherantism
He is challenged by McDowells 2nd nature Bildung.
His conventional English is thus un-sung, while meta-physical abstractions are then hung
Out to dry, in the abstract realm sky. What color is that sky?
“Unfair Question” he cries.
“Tell me about God” I ask, “very well” he replies.
My brain is numb after one question, and a few words.
He continues, “Do the God(s) agree upon what is good?”
Yes is my reply. “If so, do they love what is good?” Again yes.
“Then, is the Good whatever the God(s) love, or do the God(s) love what is Good?”
He must be on drugs.
A little philosophy makes a man an atheist.
A lot makes him a believer,
just not in God. He praises Reason, his room is a shrine.
Within four walls one will not find, no not any sign
Of conviction.
What? All this time thinking, reflecting, meditating, abstracting, observing, weaving grand tapestries of thought and still he does not find a foot hold in reality?
What the hell were you thinking about?
He responds.
A stream of consciousness is all that is,
past is a referent future is a predicate.
I am not the “me” I refer to when I say “my book.”
No sir, I have never spoken to you any knowledge of me.
For that I have none of, but knowledge I am not without.
If it is one thing I know, it is that I know nothing.
I tell him certainly my English teacher would know something to defeat him,
I am soon disenchanted, for he has ammunition for her.
“Ask her”, he says “to ascertain the truth value to this grammatically perfect declarative Sentence.”
Colorless green ideas sleep furiously.
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 11:29 PM UTC
Strangers acquaint, announcing particularities.
Thrills run across hungry nerves;
pleasure mounts in rising expectations:
First ruminating, next devouring,
then coalescing into one complete whole.
Gently the wintry chill advances
imperceptible to unschooled senses.
Mirages of fullness fade while realization grows.
Ah, the tender vulnerability of intense gratification.
Discovery of naivety’s betrayal is complete
in the consumption of perfected death.
(Cold as mirrored glass, rebounding time,
numbing fire.) An embodiment of suffocating pain,
The paroxysm climaxes... waiting for release.
(Stretched, drained, quietly entertaining sympathy.)
This sultry expansion - extended abeyance of joy -
turns knowledge of fulfillment into hope that
blends with the waters of insecurity.
(Moments of compression, burning sickness
intensifying with each presentation,
development of indeterminate expectations,
vacillation between stimulating passion and alarm.)
A formidable moment charges toward the funambulist.
Balance seems impossibly demanding.
Abruptly the event ends, time stops, breathing ceases …
The babe is held in loving arms -
forgotten pain, dissolving woe.
Her tender grace, alluring charms
beget a great, supernal flow.
Kerry Ann Herrmann
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 7:34 PM UTC
*now you thought arithmetic was hard... they really omitted telling us a clear deciphering of diacritical marks - kept the advantage. it's not really an area of expertise, but an area of clear interest worthy of a spider-web corner, something to feel cosy in... for god sake, even the Greeks started using diacritical distinctions on their beautiful alphabet... the English left theirs in squalor... ******* get moving! or you won't get rid of illiteracy in your people you sadistic ************* because, i mean, with the appropriation of diacritic you can teach people strong unitary measurements applicability of encoded sounds, that's what i learnt from Polish... e.g.: Ł (wha-wha Jimi Hendrix peddle voodoo child - ń is an n but pinching your tongue internally - kabbalah is the anatomy of the mouth and the nasal cavity, in kabbalah you have the organs teeth tongue nose mouth breath to deal with, expedition into vibrations... ó is just an aesthetic alternative to u... so the word looks pretty... you need these marks, otherwise you're first teaching people the alphabet, then you're teaching them syllables... great twigs and all... then you shove a tree into their eyes, a custard, an entire word... no wonder you have a syllabus (origin syllable) to teach them the atomic scaling of things: tree you teach as e e r t and you teach onomatopoeia as a a e i m n o o o o p t... and that's hardly a Mendeleev rational (French, prolonged a syllable cutting on -tio- prolonged n with -al, using diacritics: rātion̄al).
**diacritics - also synonymous with punctuation,
syllable punctuation, not between words
but inside them.***
as a Latin man, i'm still stuck on
deciphering the barbarism,
what barbarism you ask?
the diacritical marks added to our
alphabet - it's the last stronghold
of the literate class - i'm sitting here
wondering how to use them,
i have a couple i'm certain off,
but others just seem too impromptu,
too wobbly in how they're used,
given people cheat, gamble, and lie,
i'm not sure some of these marks
are properly explained in schools,
actually, i don't think any of them are...
not to my knowledge, with the English
language stark naked and it's
many particularities of grapheme hidden,
i could list you the oddities, but there
are too many unique examples to go
through; i mean, you could write
Joyce's Finnegans Wake on 20 pages if
the diacritical marks were included
and not this excessive spelling to capture
these stresses of accent.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 10:54 AM UTC
I haven't been a part of life for more years than I wish to count. It's the absence in the moments I've seen long ago, the scenes I once clung so desperately to belong to. The abstraction in my memories say I was once there, but the irregularities in my heart rationalize the doubt and assure me that wishful thinking was the only memory that occurred. The particularities of this symptom- if it could be called that- are quite strange. It happens so rapidly, I hardly pay it any mind; but if my mind wanders, the old theater in my brain plays a reel. The imagined scenes are portrayed on screen and I can see myself within them.
Happy... sad, maybe.
It makes no difference. The mood of the filming is enough to make the heart start an analysis. I'll feel a tug or two at my heart and wonder where I ever got this silly notion. It's odd and a little depressing, but it only makes me wonder- where was I and why did I think this happen? Some days, I think I have the answer.
It's only longing.
© 2013
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 5:38 PM UTC