Professional Documents
Culture Documents
By
Dalva Church
12/07/2008
ii.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank several professors who were a constant source of feedback
and inspiration. Dr. Vincent Moore, Dr. Sherry Truffin and Professor Anne Marie Fowler
were all instrumental in helping me to shape and edit my poetry. The English Enthusiasts
group of Tiffin University and their advisors also helped me to pare away unnecessary
elements. Every class I took in the pursuit of my degree contributed towards this work
and all of my professors gave me ideas to shape and mold into poetry.
Others were also a mine of support and encouragement. My daughter Heidi puts
up with being a source of subject matter, as well as with my creative fits, and gives me
the smile that enables me to carry on. Friends and family- such as the Lunchtime Poetry
Club, Terry Love, Joanna Church, Cory Kramer, and Brianna Huth- all read, critiqued
and shared their own poetry with me. My sister Cammy provided all the sarcasm that one
could wish for, especially when I got too gloomy.
My mother, who died suddenly while I was working on this project was the first
poet I ever read. I did illustrations for some of her poetry and, while I never cared for it,
her vivid imagery kindled pictures in my mind that never completely left me. This work
is dedicated to her for the love of literature that she inspired in me.
iii.
Introduction
Dr. Donne and Lord Byron, I am convinced, spent may more of their spare
moments asleep or staring aimlessly into the middle distance, or having a lonely chop and
an early night than they would have led us to believe. John Mortimer
The work in this collection is a result of two years of study of the nature and
source of creation. I considered the impetus behind art, story, poetry, verbal
communication, theatre and music. As a practitioner of all of these forms of creation, I
had enjoyed participating in each, but had never really considered why I did them or how
I created. As I went through each of my classes, I paid attention to how and why others
created, the philosophies behind forms of creation, and how and why I created. I directed
a play, acted in a play, attended a masters acting class, created an art exhibit and
presentation to an art gallery, wrote several short stories, took a jazz singing workshop
and wrote and wrote poetry.
For some reason, learning about the source of creativity turned my poetry in a
completely new direction. I realized that the reason I was interested in participating in
creative endeavors of all kinds was that it strengthened my understanding of myself and
of others, and helped me to communicate those understandings to others. Art, I came to
understand, is a mirror into which anyone can gaze and gain insight into the human
psyche and motivations. This understanding changed my focus in writing poetry. Over
iv.
the course of my study, I stopped making overt statements in my writings, and instead
talked about direct and immediate experiences. This allowed my readers to look into the
poetic mirror and see themselves or someone that they know rather than one simple point.
Art is a small piece of hidden truth hinted at or a plain showing of what everyone
already knows but is afraid to look at. True art may induce ecstasy, fear, loathing or
delight; but it can never leave one indifferent. The best art causes the one experiencing it
to leave it a changed person with a new insight into self, others, or life itself. In short, a
work of art is a mystery of epic proportions.
Art is not reproduction of works that have come before or a simple copy of what
is being seen. Rembrandt is art; a student copying Rembrandt is not art. A landscape
painting may be art; then again, it may simply be a lifeless copy. A photograph may be art
or it may simply be a snapshot not even fit for the scrapbook.
The expression of an originally expressed idea is what makes these differences.
The work must express an idea that comes from the mind of its creator, and is expressed
in a way that it has never been expressed before. This idea about originality originates
with Tolstoy, who felt that Artisticcreation is such mental activity as brings dimly
perceived feelings (or thoughts) to such a degree of clearness that these feelings (or
thoughts) are transmitted to other people. He also says that these transmissions should
be original ideas; ones that no one has ever had before.
Art is not a decorative work; something that one may hang on the wall and never
look at again because it does not engage the mind or heart. Paintings reproduced for the
v.
masses and sold at bulk rates fit this category. Advertising, no matter how decorative, is
usually not art. Much of the music that is being made today does not really fit the
category of art, nor does much of the fiction being written. Even the creation of
architecture has become mostly business and not art.
Machines cannot create, only humans can. Even humans may make works created
for the sake of consumption or for simple utility, however. Marketable commodities,
when that is all that they are, do not fit the category of art. Therefore, they may be pretty
but they are not aesthetically pleasing.
Instead, a work should speak with an important message. It must say something
worth hearing. As Tolstoy points out, commercial productions do not qualify as art.
Dewey also states that commercially intended objects are not art. Buy these paper
towels or Buy my album are not messages that art speaks. The language of art says
something more important and worthwhile, and its message can be heard both now and
throughout all time.
The idea that deep truths can be revealed in art and that truth contributes to what
is aesthetically pleasing is also argued by Heidegger. The goal of great art is to reveal
truth. Therefore, adding to the concepts that originality and a sense of timelessness are
important components of what makes art aesthetically pleasing, is the idea that art should
convey a message worth hearing.
The interpretations of the receiver of art have just as much validity as the
meanings of the artist who created the art. This concept means that another important
vi.
aspect of art is that it must be seen or heard and not only send a message, but also have its
messages be received. It is living and conveying truth; and that truth may be beyond the
realizations of its creator.
Clive Bell in his article, The Aesthetic Hypothesis said that, The starting point
for all systems of aesthetics must be the personal experience of a peculiar emotion. The
objects that provoke this emotion we call works of art. Bell believed that form was the
major component in aesthetics, but he also felt that the evocation of emotion was the
touchstone of what makes art, art. The fact that art evokes emotion is a continuation of
the preceding idea. One must see the art and hear its message in order to respond to it.
This response is essentially emotional, or from a deep level. People say that art strikes a
chord within them.
This idea of striking an emotional chord also means that art need not be beautiful
in a traditional sense. It may invoke awe, fear, or anger. As long as it speaks a truth that
brings forth a reaction, then it may be art. This idea that truth is more important than
beauty brings one full circle back to Heidegger, and his avowal of the fact that truth is the
deciding factor in deciding what may be classified as art.
The argument in favor of truth in art does not mean, however, that art need be
didactic. Indeed, the overt nature of didactic works removes them from the category of
art. Work that preaches a sermon tells the viewer or listener what to think. Didactic work
sounds a single note, metaphorically speaking. There is no room for the observer to find
hidden depths in the work, or to participate in creating meaning. Art is a multiviii.
ix.
Table of Contents
Introduction
Pg. iv.
Pg. 1
Pg. 15
Illustration Masquerade
Sonata- Understanding Others
Pg. 31
Pg 44
10
11
12
13
14
The Passion
I wrote my own myth,
the myth of my life.
There was an epic theme:
I offered myself
as a sacrifice
again and again,
with daily flagellations and crucifixions of
my heart and mind
For the sins of my fathersthe passing along of agony and abuse
from generation to generation;
the marriage that my parents
could never make work but could never leave.
For the sins of my pastthe failed relationships that
I could not fix;
the thousand daily faults and mistakes
that I alone am not allowed to give way to
for I must be perfect.
For the sins of the worldYes, even the mistakes of others
Find their way onto my back,
I carry the responsibility for the
failings of all who come into contact with me;
I chose to drag them all with me,
my personal cross to bear.
Yet I am never redeemed.
I cant allow it.
Martyr to all who will use meOthers benefit
from my pain,
while my suffering never ends.
15
Leviathan
Something moves in the depths
Something I have never seen before
Or at least for so long
I no longer know what it is
I need to know it
Before I allow it to surface
You have caused this rising
By your presence and
Your probing
You have raised the secret beast
I never wished
To see again
I feared it for so long
Repressed it
Forgot it was there
But I am unable
To keep it submerged
Any more
I feared its awakening
And feared to see its ravenous face
And now that it has risen
I find that the dragon
Has my own face
It is me
16
17
On the Film
I was exposed
When very young
The imprint made
Long ago
Further
Developments
Of the same nature
Continued the story
Told the same tale
And now the spool plays
Over and over
The stories of sadness
In black and white
Completely outdated
Completely untrue
And yet
To me
They are reel
18
Fine Line
She drew this line in the sand
And she saidI wont put up with this
anymore.
I wont be used
I wont go on guilt trips
(you cant make me)
I wont listen to abuse
of any kind
I will speak up for myself
Ill take care of myself
I wont care what others think of me
I wont let myself
Be manipulated
But then a wave came
And washed away
Her line...
19
Daystar, Nightstar
My heart
Like the moon
Cold
Mostly unexplored
Only reflecting light
No one wants to
Touch down and stay
Just a brief visit
Does for most
My heart
like a star
burning
completely unexplored
putting off heat
no one wants to
even touch down
the flame is too
hot for most.
20
Dissection
Cut a little deeper, says the resident
Guiding the hand of the inexperienced intern.
The scalpel goes in farther
Exposing all that is within.
There is little bleeding
Since the patient is already dead.
They move aside various organs,
Looking for the cause of death.
Nothing much comes to light:
Shattered dreams
Loneliness
Pain
Rejection
Stress
It shouldnt be enough to kill.
The dissection continues,
Carefully they remove the heart.
Look at this, says the intern.
Look at the extensive scarring on the heart.
Everyone looks closely, with no feeling,
Examining the patients broken heart
In a cold and clinical way
And they discuss him as if he were not there.
But he can still hear them
21
Learning by Experience
You would think that
we would have learned by nowThe deeper the cut
The more we require
To heal it.
Yet we stubbornly persist
in struggling on with life
while gaping wounds bleed
all over those
around us.
You would think that
we would have learned by nowThe larger the loss
the longer the time
to recover it.
Yet we stubbornly persist
in struggling on with life
while gaping holes
show our insides to those
around us.
22
Sleepless Night
If I plunge into these depths
Once again
Plumb the disquietude
Of soul
Which I
And I alone
Can ever know
Whats the point?
I eat my shame and
Regurgitate ingratitude and
Doubt
But am not purged
I am unchanged
I cut and heal
Bite and mend
Sew and rend
Whip the dervishes of
My circular thoughts
Into frenzy
And up nowhere
Equal to myself
Yet I do it all once
And again
Only to find I have
Not even left my bed
Let alone my head
23
Strange Bedfellows
This person is a stranger
And undecided
he peers in
Feels the feelings
Thinks the thoughts
Moves the arms, legs
Thighs, quivering lips
Pounding heart
He is no closer to knowledge
he sinks into
Rhythmic movement
Even orgasm
Listens to whispers
From the past,
Present, future
Words of love
He is unmoved
By the heart which
Is his own
Yet which belongs
To someone else
Some stranger
He doesnt even
Want to know.
24
Hopscotch
In the bottom of the bottle
did I find
that I had lost my heart
but saved my mind.
I skipped through life
Without a soul to touch
And mystified them all
With double dutch.
I never dropped more than
A veil or two,
And whether I was real
No one quite knew.
So I have faked my way
Through every day
And found that I just dont
Know how to play.
But now the bottles empty
And Ive been
Naked all along
Yet no ones seen.
Ill raise another glass
And drop my part;
Perhaps Ill lose my mind
And find my heart.
25
26
Baby Love
Nascent feelingshalf recognized,
half denied.
Infant,
frightening in its vulnerabilityunwanted love child.
A decision to be madeabortion or acceptance?
27
Tango
The dance never seems to end.
He leads, she follows,
Or she leads and he follows,
Step by step
They move in time
The rhythm perfect.
But it is no dance of love.
No salsa, no samba,
No smooth and gliding waltz.
It is a tango,
The sham of love,
Covered by lust.
Yet the dance goes on.
He leads, she follows,
Or she leads and he follows,
Because
A tango is better
Than no dance
At all.
28
Pavlovian Romance
By Dalva Church
Its happened before,
You have me well trained.
The stimulus and the response
You told a few lies,
betrayed a few trusts.
Does any of this ring a bell?
So now I distrust,
I fear to believe.
The stimulus and the response
You swear you have changed,
Beg me not to leave.
Does any of this ring a bell?
But I am afraid,
I cannot relax.
The stimulus and the response
And so we both prove
Were no better than dogs.
Does any of this ring a bell?
29
30
Consternation Fade-Out
He said he didnt understand her, never hadShe said she couldnt take the indecision any moreHe said he was confused and didnt know what she wantedShe said she knew perfectly well what she wanted, he just wasnt itHe said she was crazyShe said he had no room to talkHe said she was too emotionalShe said he wasnt emotional enoughHe said women were impossibleShe said men were egotisticalHe said she drove him crazyShe said that meant he WAS crazyHe suddenly laughedBy the way, I am pregnant
She said.
31
32
Swinging
I say maybe yes
Then take it back to no
I take the ring
I give it back
I think forever
Then want to end it
Does it matter?
It does not
Or it does
Or it doesnt
I love only you
I love everyone
I love you
I hate you
I want you
But dont need you
I am angry
I am happy
I say maybe yes
Then take it back to
No
33
Falling
Are you tired?
She shook her head.
He knew. He knew that deep,
inward look didnt mean she was tired.
It meant that she was thinking something over.
For some reason,
a reason he didnt care to examine too closely,
that knowledge delighted him.
34
Concert of Mind
Point and counterpoint
Meet
In the middle
Harmony
Melody
Duet
Perfect together.
Making beautiful music
As out minds meet
Then compliment
One another,
Then meet again
Point and counterpoint.
What an
Ever-interesting note
We interject into
One anothers
ThoughtsWhat music!
35
Is It Love?
You
TypicalGave
How
Me
Over
Rose
I
Pricked
All
Bled
Then
Myself
Thorns
On
Its
36
seduction
He was quiet
so she
could sleep
gathering his clothes
glancing at her
where she lay
then she sighed and
he bent to kiss her
she raised her lips
to him
like a child
to be kissed
and he
fell in love
all over
again
37
38
Parking It
The window to the sky
made of leaves
swaying gently
mesmerizes me
while the wind sings me
songs of soothing
the tree stares
unabashedly at me
looking me over
deciding I will go
while it will stay
clouds tickle my eyes
taunting me
through the window
an ant finds something fascinating
about my hand
the grass pointedly ignores me
and you sit there
dabbling in my soul.
39
The Exorcism
Light the candle
Ring the chime
Chant the poem
Without rhyme
Draw the circle
With the stone
Dance around it
All alone
Feet beat harder
Anger rising
Your heart, my heart
Apart prising
Words of breaking
Flesh rejected
Release of hatred
Heart protected
He and she now
Parted ever
Once were one now
Two forever
40
Sometimes
I think that you will say
all these things again.
Say them to
the lover after me.
41
42
43
Heart
Head
You failed to see the pain in my eyes.
You refused to see the pain in my face.
You flat-out ignored my words so clear.
You would not listen to the pain in my voice.
44
Falling Mood
The leaves fall
and simply reflect
her state of mind.
45
GOSSIP
-he said
-she said
-they said
-I said
-you said
-we said
laceratingmasticatingsalivatingruminatingurinating-
46
The Funeral
I go through the motions
shake the hands
so weakly
thanks given where deserved
yet is it meant?
Pitilessly
and yet full
of pity
they continue coming
and requiring of me
what I must give
but have no
means left
with which to give.
47
48
The Id
She sneaks under my skin
Feeling what I feel
Knowing what I think
She hears my thoughts
And steals them
Strips me bare and
Searches my depths
Leaving me bereft of privacy
She has rifled through
Every corner of my mind
And taken every stronghold
She knows everything about me
Can laugh at my disquietude and
My naked self
49
For Mr X, Who Does Not Like My Imagery, and Has Issues- A Bit of Doggerel
The snakes of indecision
Coil and slither round your soulShould and shouldnt, Musts and mustnt
Tighten round your brain
Until you can no longer think straight.
The wolves of need feed upon
Your entrails
Pulling out hopes and dreams
Rending future possibility
And bleeding out
The last of hearts desire.
The penguins of postponement
Peregrinate across the
Frozen tundra of your soul
Carrying the egg of your
unrealized dreams.
In a line they march
To the sea of commitment,
Where they arrive in a pack
of peculiar waddling confusion,
Only to turn back and return again
to where they began, unswum.
Trampling with frozen feathers
To an undisclosed location
With promise unfulfilled.
50
51
52
Eye Speak
You stand,
I sit,
We quietly talk
about mundane things,
With occasional silences.
Yet between us,
Is a deep pool
Full of all the things
As yet unsaid.
I wait for you,
And you wait for me,
To break the silence,
To cross the water.
Then our eyes meet,
And for a moment,
There is understanding
Of all the things
As yet unsaid.
I drop my eyes first,
Shy, as always,
But not before seeing,
The kindness in your eyes.
And still I hear
The echoes of
That pebble dropped into
The deep water
Of all the things unsaid.
53
54
55
Whitmans Playmates
We have wrestled with the truth
And lostEvery time we lose.
Jacobs angel
Has touched us and
The tell-tale literary limp
Clues in all those
Who have wrestled,
As have we.
A secret and under-skin society we,
Unafraid to face factsWilling to stare even death
In the eyes.
Laughing at quantum physics and
Alternate universes:
Our playthings.
Able to write our souls
On a page,
And admit all our sins
With a pen.
Ask us no questions
And well tell you
No truths.
56
Rorschach Sky
Who decides that the stars are
Orion,
Or a dipper or a bear?
Or a lion?
I dont see what others see
When I look up,
when I look in.
I see something entirely new,
Something no one else has seen before.
I cant see through a microscope
or a telescope.
I dont see what they tell me I should;
They laugh at me and tell me
Its plain.
Why cant I see what others see?
Why cant others see what I do?
In the immense game of
Connect the dots
Which we all play,
Why cant I play well with others?
They all agree
A lion,
A bear,
Orion.
While I see
Beings singing,
A cosmic dance,
A face,
A unicorn
Or sometimes just
The stars.
57
TILTING AT WINDMILLS
There you go again off to battle,
with armor made of household items,
some poor soul conscripted
to be your Sancho Panza.
You see giants everywhere
of your own making,
so with a broomstick for a lance
off you go.
Like the Gentlemen of old
ever ready
to throw down a gauntlet
for a slight.
But you do not fight
for fair Dulcinea,
Nor tilt at windmills
for loveRather you are always
ready for battle,
Just to protect
your foolish pride.
58
Cognitive
The wheels are turning
sparks are burning
in my head
The clicking clacking
thought not lacking
in my head
And never stopping
always working
in my head
All gears are moving
one another
in my head
I wish for freedom
from the turning
in my head
relentless motion
makes me crazy
in my head
The ticking tocking
interlocking
in my head
I can not stop it
try to stop it
in my head
I get distracted
fall off track then
in my head
The gears start slipping
no clack clicking
in my head
-I fall asleep
59
60
Fall Requiem
The strong winds rushed the river,
Sending it to its destination ever faster.
There are no destinations,
Said its voice, Only journeys.
The water pounded the rocks
I relished the sound
The few remaining birds
Sang their dirge in the leafless treesWinter is coming, warmth is gone,
They lamented.
The water washed the shore
I relished the sight
Red berries here and there
Brighten the bleak landscapeThe last offering of the bushes
To fatten and sustain
The tiny mourners.
The cold wind also sighed
Through the treesIt comes, it comes
And kissed my cheeks with a sting
Then the first snow of winter began to fall.
61
TICK TOCK
He hears the clock
Beside his bed,
It ticks away
his life.
He lies awake
And watches life
Ebb and flow
The sands in the
Hourglass
Make no sound
But time moves
Loudly here.
He is afraid that
He hasnt livedAnd never willAnd then hell die
With nothing done...
And the clock ticks,
And the clock tocks,
And the pendulum swings
Back
And
Forth
Just for him...
He cant slow it down
He cant speed it up
Hes afraid of what it means.
The relentless progression
Of time,
It holds no meaning
For him...
Because now
He cannot move
And he cannot progress
And he really cannot
Tell time.
62
Decomposition
Body gone
Mind too
One with
Dirt
63
String Theory
Everyone has voices in their head,
He said.
All the most creative people
Hear voices
Moses, Joan of Arc
I laughed,
Then sobered.
Where are my voices?
Did I hear them?
Have I missed them?
Ooooo- They are there.
They do not whisper
Divine revelation.
They whipsnake
Across my brain
In the dead of night
Breathing pink flame
That sears the soul.
64
65
66
67
Strange Quark
Theres a scar on my hand
That wont go away
And in three hours
I can go home
She said.
When I look at myself
In the mirror
I am a different
Person each time
She said.
(Only two hours now)
My handwriting changes
From day to day
And I cant think why
She said.
(twenty minutes).
I cant stop
This endless fidgeting
I just change from
One twitch to another
Time to go home
She said.
68
SURREAL PAINTING
Life on speeded-up film
Passes by me
As I move in
Super-slow motion
People rushing past
Thinking, feeling
Making decisions
(Some which even seem
to involve me)
but I am
not affected
I feel nothing
I cannot tell
If life is passing me by
Or if I am the
Only one living
I rest on a park bench
The pigeons madly
Peck and coo
Making grey blurs
While I am still
My soul remains inviolate
While my emotions scream in agony
Until I turn
The sound down
I cannot tell
If I am real
Or if the sped-up world
Rushing by me
Is reality
My features stretch
Then blur
Then move no more
And everything around me is
Just streaks
Of light
69
I AM
The little girl
holds out
a picture of
herself
to passers by
Do you know who I am?
she asks, her anguish apparentno one answers
The young lady
takes the picture
and compares
it to all
the passers by
Do you know who I am?
goes unanswered
because she finds
no match
The woman
stares intently
at the picture
concentrating
on the questionDo you know who I am?
but the emptiness
and the silence
prevail
Finally the crone
throws the picture
in the fire
sits quietly
watching it burn
and seeing her own soul
Do you know who I am?
fades away
as the soul finally answers
You Are
70
Shock Value
random lightening
weakening
exciting me
pink
red
blue
sizzlecrackle
electrons firing
in my brain
neurons
atoms
cells
chemicals
dendrils connect
disconnect
electroshock therapy
is nothing
next to this.
71
QUANTUM TUNNELING
I see you
And you think that you see me
How good I have become at hiding my true self
Come and find meYou have touched me once or twice
And so you think that you own me now
That I am yours
Come and find meYou saw a glimpse of hair
A sheen of soul
And think you know who I am
Come and find meMy face is still hidden
More terrible and more beautiful
Than you can imagine
Come and find meThe things I have seen
Have made my eyes old
Could you bear them?
Come and find meCan you look into my eyes, uncovered
Brave the glory of god
Risk the turning to stone
Learn what hides in the dark
And see for one moment
The things I have seen?
Come and find meOr will you too
Give up
Find someone easier to take
Turning your eyes away
From splendor and from grief?
Come and find me-
72
Communion
I am life
Sparkling and dancing
Bubbling and murmuring
Swirling and exciting
Ever moving
Ever changing
Reflecting your face
at the bottom of your
wineglass,
Waiting to be drunk to the dregs.
No more hesitation,
Put the glass
To your lips.
Taste me and
Drink your fill.
Give up your empty days and
Emptier nights
And start living.
I am life.
73
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Dewey, John. Art as Experience. New York: Perigree, 1980. Chap. 1-2. 3-27.
Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich. Chapters 1-3. Introduction to Aesthetics (Berlin
Aesthetics Lectures of 1820s. Trans. T. M. Knox. Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1975. 1-14.
Heidegger, Martin.The Origin of the Work of Art. Poetry, Language, Thought. Trans. A.
Hofstader. Lectures 1 & 2. New York: Harper & Row, 1971. 32-48.
Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Aesthetic Judgement. Trans. J. C. Meredith. Sections 1-14,
16, 23-24, 28. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1952.
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