Hey @martinstomisin, I'm glad you liked it and thanks for chiming in on how you see the piece. I will happily comment a little on my "Writer's Intent." :-)
Firstly, I am obliged to give the disclaimer that I believe the meaning of a piece of poetry lives not primarily in the writing of it, but the reading of it. In other words, even for myself, the so-called "author," any given piece I write has no meaning so-to-speak until I am in the moment of reading it — either out loud, or in my head. And then, the meaning will always be subjective, revealed momentarily.
One aspect that I do feel I can easily elucidate is the process in which a given piece came into being.
In this case, the main inspiration for the piece was the first image in this post, which I created with Deep Dream Generator by filtering a smartphone photo of a plant in my backyard after heavy rain when the sun came out — through a collage of screenshots from the game Lost Relics and some public domain images.
combined image
| source image | process image |
|---|---|
| Observing this image, the phrase "cybernetic leaves" came to mind, along with the intention to create a stream-of-consciousness piece with heavy focus on rhythm and rhyme — in other words, a VERSE poem. |
In terms of impetus, that was all — that it be about "cybernetic leaves" and that it should flow rhythmically. As with other poems in which I don't specify a rigid meaning, I tend to gravitate towards speculation about (and ecstatic praise of) the beauty of existence, along with its mysterious origin in (I believe) some kind of cosmic hyperintelligence that in-forms it.
In this piece, I am daydreaming about the veins and patterns of leaves and how they display the masterwork of a living entity we call a plant — which descends from those unspeakably old beings, the first who dreamed such things until they became physical:
of beingnesses crumbling
from ancientness, and mumbling
the blessings of the first few thoughts:
what things those first few curses wrought!
Here also, I am poking fun at the joy — and pain — of existence by referring to those early thoughts (of which we all came) as both blessings and curses.
In the final stanza, I am expressing wonder at all the cells, molecules, bacteria, organs, etc. that make up living things as they "weave their spirals" to form veins for nutrients to flow through — whether blood or the fluid that transports the same in plants, and transitioning into speculating on human beings as a sort of "plant" which roams about, creating purposes of our own, exploring wildernesses and constructing shelters for ourselves in one enormous, terrible, and beautiful "cyb'netic [cybernetic] hymn."
(Note — the purpose of the pronuncation cyb'netic is to better fit the established rhythm of the piece)
Here is the Merriam-Webster's dictionary's current definition of "cybernetics" —
the science of communication and control theory that is concerned especially with the comparative study of automatic control systems (such as the nervous system and brain and mechanical-electrical communication systems)
. . .
Thank you for giving me the opportunity to reflect upon my writing and caring enough to ask about my "Writer's Intent!" Below, for reference, I will show the rhythmic breakdown of the lines. Recently, I have not done well in recording recitations of my poem! This comment reminds me to return to that practice, as I feel it is easier for people to connect to my writing when I record myself speaking them.
Note that in the breakdown below:
- bold represents a stressed syllable
- italics represent an unstressed syllable
| syllable count | |
|---|---|
| cy·ber·net·ic leaves — | 5 |
| and all the ways to lea·ven trees | 8 |
| fer·men·ta·tion — of the skies | 7 |
| and all that soars and all that breathes | 8 |
| with·in the con·fines of the man·na | 9 |
| be·ing ba·kèd by the sun | 7 |
| u·pon the o·ven-land of ter·ra — | 9 |
| all in·scribed in bright and dun | 7 |
| lines of si·gil and of syl·la·ble: | 9 |
| hier'gly·phics low and pin·na·cle | 8 |
| the breadth of un·der·stan·ding wide | 8 |
| where all the hie·rar·chies di·vide | 8 |
| to broa·den to that ol·der plane, | 8 |
| that e·ver-all-ex·is·ting range | 8 |
| of be·ing·nes·ses crum·bl·ing | 8 |
| from an·cient·ness, and mum·bl·ing | 8 |
| the bles·sings of the first few thoughts: | 8 |
| what things those first few cur·ses wrought! | 8 |
| what be·ings and edged veins of light | 8 |
| that weave their spi·rals: win·ding tight | 8 |
| as·sem·bled pled·gèd pur·po·ses | 8 |
| to roam the wai·ling wild'nes·ses, | 8 |
| (those quaint, for·bid·ding fast·nes·ses) | 8 |
| that shel·ter all the roots and stem | 8 |
| in one cyb'ne·tic hymn. | 6 |
RE: One Cyb'netic Hymn