Analysis of The Thought That Lingers: Part One
Karl Constantine FOLKES 1935 (Portland)
I straddle worlds of the Betwixt
and the Between,
forever pulled within;
yet striving to be out,
from darkness without light.
And fearful of the brilliance
of nothingness,
of thought that has no thought,
and light that does not see,
I seek the world of form.
Yet form contains ambivalence,
uncertainty.
Its boundary is the dark;
its limits are within,
and not without; in space.
These meme-like thoughts invade my mind.
Their resting place…
released in dreams — they soar;
in independent flight,
to capture other souls.
Cartesian souls of mind and brain,
in wonderment;
of their separateness;
of their imprisonment…
within a human world.
“So, who am I; or you; or it…
this thing called ‘Me’?
How subtle is this form?
How gross is it in flesh?”
The carnal self bemoans.
The thought that lingers will not rest.
It dares not sleep
from constant dread and fear;
of never waking up…
from its profundity.
In stupor, then, we choose to be;
in ignorance…
of our inflicted pride,
that crowds our heritage;
and binds us from our selves.
We sleep and wake; and wake and sleep…
unceasingly…
without a single break…
in world of the Betwixt;
and world of the Between.
And death does not deter this goal.
No force contains it.
For, is not death a void…
incomprehensible;
whose light we cannot see?
In quest of seeking light, I ask…
unwittingly.
What is this thing called thought?
A conscious mind might say:
‘I think, therefore I am.’
Yet I am in my dreaming mind…
a latent Freudian self;
furiously asleep…
with Chomsky’s ‘colorless green thoughts:’
syntax — without meaning.
The fertile mind can never rest;
nor can it cease…
from having fertile dreams…
of that which might not be;
of that which might yet be.
So on we trudge in ignorance…
to find ourselves;
not knowing who we are;
seeking divinity…
with hope of finding grace.
Some seek the path of holiness…
in sacred space;
outside of human self.
Some seek the Self within;
yet others turn elsewhere.
The human ‘I’ confronts it’s ‘self’
in search of ‘Self.’
The part…confronts the whole;
and finds instead, a bigger part…
without a sense of whole.
In this conundrum of our fate,
we write the script…
of our philosophies;
of human mind and will;
of language and of thought.
Yet, in persistent quest, I ask…
in seeking Truth.
“What is this thing called thought
that does not cease to haunt;
invading all our space?”
For Truth is not of physics made.
It soars beyond…
our sense of Space and Time.
No science can contain…
that which remains beyond.
Did not Einstein perceive the thought…
of boundless thought…
in boundless Time and Space;
unlimited by thought;
or human consciousness?
The thought of no thought comes to me.
Meditation —
Yet…that, itself…is thought;
suspended — without words…
competing with its ‘Self.’
The ‘empty’ mind empties its ‘self.’
A focused mind…
whose focus is its thought…
of emptiness of thought..
that strains to find ‘The Way.’
For thoughts are sacred images.
They liberate;
yet hold us in abeyance;
in slavery of ourselves..,
when we ignore their source.
Their source then, is ‘The Way.’
Harboring the thought of no thought.
Harboring the thought that lingers;
The eternal thought of silence;
in its eloquence of quietude.
An innocent child might fathom…
from deep within ‘autistic’ mind,
that thought has no need of speech;
and speech itself is less than thought,
despite the link we sense.
For speech can stutter without thought;
a spate of sound that’s rubbish;
produced by motored nerves…
impelled without the will;
with vacuum of mind.
I straddle worlds of the Betwixt
and the Between;
in search of human thought.
Where is it stored; and how?
Or…is it never ever stored?
The Joycean world of Ulysses…
of Proteus…
confronts me with despair;
enthralls me with its void;
of thought that sheds no light.
Yet, in this mythic Joycean world,
bereft of light,
a mind can hope to rise…
from darkened underworld;
to find its own rebirth.
For thoughts reside in mythic worlds…
harboring ports…
from which they roam in space;
haunting us to join them…
in archetypal quest.
From underworld and crevices,
these thoughts emerge.
Darkness is their ally;
yet bright light is their strength;
to mingle with the mind.
I’m in a chamber without light;
a place of utter darkness;
darkness sheltering the void.
Shadows haunt my seeing;
of seeing only naught.
A presence looms on blackened screen;
a formless form;
at home, in darkest place;
inviting me to peek;
to enter deep within cavernous realms.
This zone of timeless space and time,
forbidden zone,
is everywhere around;
dimension yet unknown,
‘though allied to our world.
A child will often enter it;
sinners too — or saints.
None returns unsullied;
and none preserves the truth
of darkened space and time.
A light can pass through darkest hole;
vortex of the void.
It need not stay within;
as captive of the dark.
It seeks its native home.
So does the dark that seeks the light;
yet finds the dark…
appealingly its home;
as resident of time-
less time and space…
Scheme | ABcxd efghi ehjck lkxdx mnfno phixx qrxxa hexxs rtxab tputh vhGwy lzrx1 qxxhh esxhk fkzc2 zztxt 3 x4 tG v5 gxk x6 7 m6 ggkgf hxgxz zlggw 8 3 esx wgxea xlXGx gxxtl abgxx 4 e2 ud odxox xxkyq 8 xtxl dfu1 g bikxx 7 9 x9 o pxx5 7 tucjx djx7 k |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 11011001 0001 010101 110111 110011 0101010 1100 111111 011111 110111 11010100 0100 1100101 110101 010101 11110111 1101 010111 00101 110101 01011101 0100 111000 110100 010101 11111111 1111 110111 111101 010101 01110111 1111 110101 110101 111 01011111 0100 1100101 1110100 0111101 11010101 1 010101 011001 011001 01110111 11011 111101 00100 111101 01110111 0100 111111 010111 11111 11101101 0101001 100001 1110011 10110 01011101 1111 110101 111111 111111 11110100 11001 110111 100100 111101 11011100 0101 111101 110101 11011 01010111 0111 010101 01010101 010111 010101101 1101 1100100 110101 110011 10010111 0101 111111 111111 0101101 11111101 1101 1011101 110101 110101 11100101 1101 010101 010011 110100 01111111 010 110111 010011 010111 01011011 0101 110111 110011 111101 11110100 110 1110010 01001001 110111 111101 10001111 10001110 00101110 0110011 11001110 11010101 1111111 01011111 010111 11110011 0111110 01111 010101 11011 11011001 0001 011101 111101 11110101 0111010 11 011101 11111 111111 1011011 0111 011111 11010 111101 11010101 1001 111101 101111 01101 1100100 1101 101110 111111 110101 10010011 0111010 1010001 11110 110101 01011101 011 110101 010111 1101011001 11110101 1001 11001 010101 1011101 01110101 10111 101010 010101 110101 01111101 10101 111101 110101 111101 11011101 1101 010011 110011 1101 |
Closest metre | Iambic trimeter |
Characters | 5,183 |
Words | 1,042 |
Sentences | 66 |
Stanzas | 37 |
Stanza Lengths | 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5 |
Lines Amount | 185 |
Letters per line (avg) | 21 |
Words per line (avg) | 5 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 105 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 23 |
About this poem
In the year 2000, at the dawning of a new millennium, emboldened by new thoughts, new dreams, and new expectations, I set out to write a collection of poetry, beginning in January of 2000, and ending in December of 2000. Consisting of a total of 12 poems with interconnecting themes, the poetry as a whole, was designed to constitute an anthology of a poetry of twelve parts entitled “The Thought That Lingers.” Altogether, the poetry is so designed that the collection of 12 poems was composed for each month of the twelve months of the year 2000, beginning in January of the first month, and ending in December of the twelfth month of year 2000. This is the first poem, or Part One, of that collection of “The Thought That Lingers.” more »
Written on January 01, 2000
Submitted by karlcfolkes on March 22, 2023
Modified by karlcfolkes on March 22, 2023
- 5:12 min read
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"The Thought That Lingers: Part One" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 7 Sep. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/154568/the-thought-that-lingers%3A-part-one>.
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