Thread: Higher Purpose (fit-to-post version)

Do worms wiggle through dirt
with pretentions of higher purpose,
deliver sermons from muddy pulpits
preach to lesser forms of vermin?

Still, dripping with slime
...not sin...
there's no medicine;
fit to wipe away
the whitewash
or bright colors in our galleries;
all testaments embarrassing
like clichés dressed up as wisdom,
self-inflicted ideology
in an orgy of ideals.

Here's to portraits
of imperfection:
More perfect
in their sketches than
the grotesque dimensions of reality
in the subjects they reflect.

This irony's all mine,
but the hypocrisy we'll share.

This is an interesting read. The lines have an interesting rhythm that keeps you reading. They also really flow well.

The contrast between those now too often bedfellows 'irony' and 'hypocrisy' is well made.

Good work!

Love,

Firebird

Do worms wiggle through dirt
with pretentions of higher purpose,
deliver sermons from muddy pulpits
preach to lesser forms of vermin?

the image this brought to my mind was wonderfully funny and very effective! Loved it!

Here's to portraits
of imperfection:
More perfect
in their sketches than
the grotesque dimensions of reality
in the subjects they reflect.

This demonstrates the old saying that those who write history are usually the victors.

Thanks Firebird.

Interesting interpretation Gumby.

Hey Edge, I have some issues with this piece content-wise:

there's no medicine;
fit to wipe away
the whitewash
or bright colors in our galleries;

Does the above mean that we can't change? - That whatever mistakes we have will always be there? Coz then I have to disagree! OR, does it mean that as humans we have no purpose, like you imply worms don't? If that's the case, where is this knowledge coming from?

Here's to portraits
of imperfection:
More perfect
in their sketches than
the grotesque dimensions of reality
in the subjects they reflect.

I'd say the irony here is a bit forced. Comparing the 'perfect sketch' to the 'imperfect reality' didn't quite work for me.

This irony's all mine,
but the hypocrisy we'll share.

Who's "we"? The worms included? I think it's a little too judgemental here, without any substantiel clause.

Overall I found it quite a tricky piece, with several interpretations, but as a provocation, though the two last lines are very nice, it didn't strike me really! I'm not entirely sure I got it right though, so I hope I'm not way off...

You're not way off. The piece is intended to have a message, and that message (hypocritically and ironically) is that "Art", with a capital "A", as well as much of what people do, but in this case art, is predicated on resonance and beauty (or beautification, making the ugly beautiful), largely in an abstract sense. Both qualities are evoked to give meaning to seemingly deep, but ultimately arbitrary, arrangement of words, sounds, pigments, moments captured in a photograph, or carved from blocks of wood and rock. The conceit of the "Artist", in other words, who justify their feeling in the dark by way of appeal to some higher purpose, or ideal, that of the "Artist" and his/her "Art". I'm not comparing people with worms. That image was rhetorical. Worms don't have enough sense, I suspect, to deify their own actions, or conflate their existence as human beings with their desire to elevate themselves above the muck by identifying themselves as "Poet", "Photographer", "Painter", "Sculptor" or, worst of all, as an "Artist" who's pulpit is the medium and who's sermon is the production.

I don't know if this changes your opinion of the piece, but I hope it clears up the context.

You're not way off. The piece is intended to have a message, and that message (hypocritically and ironically) is that "Art", with a capital "A", as well as much of what people do, but in this case art, is predicated on resonance and beauty (or beautification, making the ugly beautiful), largely in an abstract sense. Both qualities are evoked to give meaning to seemingly deep, but ultimately arbitrary, arrangement of words, sounds, pigments, moments captured in a photograph, or carved from blocks of wood and rock. The conceit of the "Artist", in other words, who justify their feeling in the dark by way of appeal to some higher purpose, or ideal, that of the "Artist" and his/her "Art". I'm not comparing people with worms. That image was rhetorical. Worms don't have enough sense, I suspect, to deify their own actions, or conflate their existence as human beings with their desire to elevate themselves above the muck by identifying themselves as "Poet", "Photographer", "Painter", "Sculptor" or, worst of all, as an "Artist" who's pulpit is the medium and who's sermon is the production.

THAT is exactly what I saw in this piece, and found it wonderfully said

I got this without the explanation, but doubt I could have ever explained it as thoroughly or eloquently as you did. If I try to explain why I dig this so much, I'll just trip over my words and make a mess, so I'll just echo Maggie with wonderfully said. I once worked for a custom framer who also did some restoration on sculptures, so I really do know where you're coming from. That's not to say poets or writers are any better. That first stanza is some mean stuff, in a good way. Double kudos, Edge, this piece makes a ton of sense and was weaved so damn elegantly.