Thread: A Solipsist On His Deathbed

A train creaks into a station.
His window isn't open.

Veins purple, pumping morphine,
crags like potholes, and liverspots
with stories like scorched landmarks,
geography wrinkled and sagging;

The old man hallucinates while he dreams
of laughing daughters dancing barefoot
in the rain, on the same brick patio
where sons chased fireflies
and they all sipped lemonade,
while swigging mouthfuls of life.

Memories as a boy in a high-rise
staring down at the curious street;
it once occurred to him to leap
and it would not have changed a thing.

That boy never changed, only recoiled
at first sign of outer light
to play silent spy in a closet,
peering out between the blinds.

Still, there were plenty walks on the waterfront,
drives across cities and countries
with no shortage of swell stories to tell;
ample sweat, blood and tears poured as testament
for loves, loved ones and loves lost
to the play of time and chance
and odd coincidences for the checklist,
all requisites for a real life lived.

Doesn't matter past the end of his bed,
or the morphine dreams, or the child
he nurtured in the confines of his head.

Yet for anyone else, a world ends;
when his heart stops beating, the world ends.

I can't even begin to describe how awesome this work is, it just speaks for itself and I wouldn't want to tarnish it by making a forced attempt at constructive criticism.

Great work!

Thanks alot Jon.

You managed to instill nostalgia in me while reading this, slowly building up the past while literally nearing the old guy's end. It was a very enjoyable read, edge.

Minor suggestions: change "fireflies" to something else; it seemed a little too sugary sweet if you know what I mean. It did bring a picture to mind though, a memory of myself as a boy when I once chased a lizard until it dropped it's tail... so "lizard" would work better for me, hehe

Then I think the final differentiation between "a" and "the" is not strong enough. Replacing "the" with "that" would do it for me.

Again, really nice work.

Cheers,

This one really touched me, Edge. To me, your work has really become more accessable of late, which I think is a good thing. There is a more mature feeling to them. This stanza particularly touched me, though the whole poem is full of great lines.

Doesn't matter past the end of his bed,
or the morphine dreams, or the child
he nurtured in the confines of his head.

Great work.

Martin, I am fine with fireflies as it stands. Thanks for the input nonetheless. Much appreciated. The "a"/"the" distinction in the last stanza is essential to the piece. Replacing "the" with "that" is the exact opposite of the distinction drawn by my original choice of words. To a non-solipsist, who believes in the existence of a material and non-material world outside of their own mind, their death simply means that they are removed from the world at large which goes on existing. For the solipsist, who believes that the world is an extension of their own consciousness and that there is no world external to that consciousness, their own death literally means the end of everything. "A" world (the individual experience of the deceased and his/her impact) vs. "The" world (an all encompassing extension of the solipsist himself).

Glad you find my stuff more accessible Gumby. That's a good sign.

Wow, Edge, this is truly superb, not a single nit to these eyes, sheer perfection. Yet again, there are far too many spectacular lines to cite, I'd end up quoting most of the piece. You spoil me, sir. Cindy's right, your work has become more accessible, gloriously so. Whatever it is you're doing, keep at it, it's evolving you at warp speed and with excellent results. I'm still here shaking my head in awe at those finals lines, brilliance at its best.

I still see some complications with the ending; To make complete sense for your stated intentions, wouldn't the narration have to change from a third to a first person view, just after the comma in that very last line? In a way I think it's okay the way you write it, and can be thought of as a poetic device, yet I'm really not sure about this.

On another note, after reading up on solipsism, I'm not sure I see it fit for the whole scene! It is more of a philosophical point of view, rather than a drugged state of near-death, which after all is his reality. In some sense we can all be said to be solipsists from time to another and maybe especially when we are in our death-beds, but then the term is used more as a psychological diagnose, which I'm not sure is valid really...

I think actually I would prefer the poem without the solipsist reference at all. The content is solid and had me already without. In any case I think such a point should be conceived between the lines.

I hope I'm making sense, I might not be though!!!

Martin, in a nutshell what I tried to do was play around with the actuality of the subjects life, especially regarding the nature of his experiences. The perspective of the piece does shift in the last three stanzas, as a device in order to comment objectively on his experience.

About the conclusion: Do you mean something like "my world dies"?

Specifically, the solipsism refers to his epiphany as a boy and the somewhat strange fact that he went on living his life under that assumption in silence and secrecy. That theme can also be seen if you look at the piece in terms of the uncertainty and tenuous reliability of his experiences. For the solipsist, existence itself very well might be a (his/her) dream (this intersects with Cartesian metaphysics somewhat). The flimsy nature of his experience is compounded, in the piece, by drugs that exert an effect on memories of his experiences (I tried to imply that there is a question about who is administering the morphine that has such an impact on his dream-memories, since he is both asleep and bedridden). His memories, both actual and drug induced, become tangled up with his sleep-dreams within the broader context of his life-dream.

That he is dying presents a good context in which to analyze the significance of his experiences, even if he is the sole recipient of those experiences. Is his life of dreaming and uncertainty any more or less "real" than that of a non-solipsist? The conclusion attempts to resolve that question.

I am kind of tired, so I hope that my explanation coherently justifies the theme.