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World of Dreams (Letter to Christoph)

Written by Cornelio

Friday, 28 December 2007

Re: World of Dreams

My dear Christoph,

I am grateful to you for taking the time to read my verses. While many appreciate the "beauty of my verses", ... you and Thomas...[have taken] the time to really feel them, smell them, breath them -- as one would carress [one's] body sometimes when one is in the mood to attempt to understand his innermost self, more spiritually.

Your letter in response to "A Faustian Longing" indicated how much you understood the essence of my verses (and I quote):
"You called your poetry "raw passion" and this describes very clearly what they are: a spontaneous mirror image of current feelings, but a broken image and a mysterious, cryptic one. There is no plain and obvious meaning, no conclusion easily to be drawn from it but plenty of sometimes opaque connotations and the meaning found in it widely depends on what the reader sees in the verses. In your poetry the most important thing is the meaning, or more precisely the hiding, concealment of it, and one never knows if this is just because you like to play with the reader or if it is you who shall be hidden, concealed because of fearing to be revealed. But nevertheless it is the meaning in the sense of a message that plays the major role in your poetry, it is the poet speaking to us, trying to tell us something about himself not in a plain and open way but in any case trying to evoke not only feelings, but a reaction, an answer even and by that starting to commune. You know, your poetry is much more than merely raw feelings, the only raw about it seems to be the shape, the outward appearance, but just like Schubert's "Impromptus" there is a structure within them, an Ariadne-thread which is the voice of the author, and we just have listen to it to understand that he wants to tell us something. As a result of that your poems are often rather extensive (but not opulent) since they reflect an inner monologue, and at the same time this is the dialogue with the reader. This of course requires a reader who feels similar, who is in constant inner dialogue with himself - otherwise he will read the verses but not understand them, feel them." Your grasp of the essence of my verses is amazing considering that I have shared with you, perhaps, only less than a dozen of my verses. I have not shared with you for example my Perach series, written especially to a girl who found me (through my homepage) and who I fell in love with. I am not sure whether the recent tragic ending of her life contributed to my reticence to share that part [of] me.

The Perach series consists mostly of short (three- to ten-line) verses [that] are more symbolic than many of my other verses, although perhaps not as good as your "Park in Wilhelmstal". I am not sure now if you ever shared "In meiner Seele ist es Herbst" (In my soul it is autumn) with me.

You are correct in your perception that my verses "...reflect an inner monologue, and at the same time this is the dialogue with the reader ... trying to evoke not only feelings, but a reaction, an answer even and by that starting to commune...". Indeed. For this reason, I rejected the suggestion of one of my e-mail buddies who advised that I "...embellish [my] verse with theatric symbolisms so that the resulting drama will remain in the mind of the reader". Because of the sparsity in drama and detail in my verses, he, like you, sometimes find my verses loose or in your own words "... a broken image and a mysterious, cryptic one ... ". I think you two are being kind, perhaps afraid to hurt my feelings. I should learn to accept harsh criticisms if I were to grow in presenting my world in the verse form. I have a good excuse for now anyway, I have just been dabbling with the verse form for a few months. My Achilless heel however is not understanding English fully well -- this language not being my native tongue -- so that I fail to grasp the life of the language most of the time.

During my initial attempts to write verse, a reader (who happens to have a PhD in literature) advised that I should read Cavafy. I am grateful to him for introducing me to Cavafy because I begun to appreciate the style of Cavafy better, especially his mastery in describing a scene, so vivid that a reader is bound to feel he is actually there -- part of an illicit tryst or partaking in the sensuous delights. In reading Cavafy, I realized also why I stubbornly insist on a more lean or sparse description of a person, scene, or action, leading to what you perceive about my verses having "...no plain and obvious meaning, no conclusion easily to be drawn from it but plenty of sometimes opaque connotations and the meaning found in it widely depends on what the reader sees in the verses...". You are correct, to a certain extent, in your understanding, because, as you correctly perceive again, what I have in mind is "...a reader who feels similar, who is in constant inner dialogue with himself". Thus, if we connect, because of a similar experience, I am inviting my reader to participate in the "evolution of the verse" so that it becomes his own story and not just mine; thus to be so specific with my own aspirations in a verse may distract my reader from integrating his experience in the process to make the verse his own [experience].

I am also experimenting further with the "dialogue" style (between the writer and the recipient of the verse, or even a third person), e.g., "A Diamond in the Riverbed", "Things I Cannot Change", "I Shall Always Be" -- and let the reader decide whether to join the dialogue in the verse, either in the role of a voyeur (the use of this term is not an accident) or by assuming the role of the writer or recipient of the verse.

If you do like to read more about what you call "...an insight into [my] literary workshop...", Thomas and I had a series of exhanges about my verse "All these, but more" that led to the "Thomas variation" of the same verse. The letters may help you understand better why "All these, but more" was written -- its history and story. It will also further clarify what I was trying to say in my previous letter -- how the rearranging of the lines could affect the meanings of a verse. The Thomas's variation of "All these, but more" also demonstrates how the evolution of the stage of the relation can shift the meaning of the verse. I kept the latter version essentially as Thomas created the second part.

In your response to "A Faustian Longing" you concluded: "... one could probably say that your poems are to be listened to whereas mine are to be envisioned...." Except those few you shared so far, I have not read perhaps most of your verses yet; so I am not sure if my initial impression is correct. I find however that you are trying to understand and answer the greater questions -- life and its meaning -- the harmony in this world and the role we may play in this cosmic stage. As such, your inspiration comes from the things around you and those that govern our lives -- nature, the changing of the seasons, light, the paths of life, etc.

I can understand therefore and can even relate why you are so fascinated with autumn, a time of the year when we are forced to confront death -- even our own. Somehow, you were able to find peace with many of the questions you asked -- reflected in the quiet harmony and beauty of your verses, I have read so far. However, if you created layers of meanings in your verses, as I usually do with some of mine, is it just posssible that there is still a lingering doubt -- even if it were only a little -- that the answers you found are indeed true and right?. I can sense a yearning therefore, even a longing that there is indeed a greater force aside from our own, that governs all these. Thus, the beauty you found of this world, or rather sought for, may depend on how your ultimate answer(s) will come about.

In a sense, my verses eventually deal with those issues, life and the role of human beings in the natural order of things. I focus more though in the struggles of man within himself and his relation with his fellow human beings, in his eternal search to answer the questions you are also asking, etc. It is the drama, the soul searching in this struggle -- the humanity of man, rather than the role of man in the grand scheme -- that fascinates me. Thus, it is more a vantage point where our verses differ rather than the ultimate goals.

I am not too sure whether my verses would really sound good to be listened to -- no one has ever read them for me -- and I do not have the "poetic voice" to read them aloud, for myself. However, if you look closely, you will never enjoy some of my verses unless you try to envision them. For example, the first stanza of "World of Dreams" reads:

**************************
In your eyes still remain
the innocence of a child
the purity of a youth's aspiration
of a Kingdom where love reigns
in the heart of every being.
**************************

Inherent in the first two lines is the suggestion of the hero in this verse who is already "grown up", had a happy childhood and has known love. Perhaps, he was even very sheltered early in life so that he came to realize and has been shocked, upon venturing out on in his own, of the darker side in the larger world he now lives in. However, the beauty of the world he enjoyed so much in his youth has been so ingrained in his being -- he knew of the reality of this (once) beautiful world. Thus, in spite of the harsh realities around him now, he can still dream and see the possibility of a more beautiful world. His life therefore is consumed in finding those with similar visions -- so that he can recreate this world he once knew. It is his mission, his faith; he clings to this faith because once he loses this dream, he will die.

If you stop, to reflect further on the hero of the verse, you will find that he is one who has the luxury to brood over his life. You may even conclude that he is not really miserable or unhappy -- he must have had a good life but perhaps not completely content. Like Faust, he must still be searching for that moment when he can say "Linger on!". If you are also a cynic, you may even judge the person: "Can he ever be content?"

It was a [developing relationship with a] friend [that] inspired me to write "World of Dreams":

**************************
World of Dreams

In your eyes still remain
the innocence of a child
the purity of a youth's aspiration
of a Kingdom where love reigns
in the heart of every being.

Keep living in this dream
someday a soul will come
sharing your world of dreams.
From this
a new world will emerge
a reality from dreams.
**************************

Based on its birth, "World of Dreams" is indeed, to quote you, "...a spontaneous mirror image of current feelings, but a broken image and a mysterious, cryptic one...". However, how can one just listen to and appreciate the verse without visualizing:

**************************
of a Kingdom where love reigns
in the heart of every being.
**************************
In this Kingdom, how do we know when love is there? Is it when people say: "I love you!"? Difficult to perceive, especially if you are just observing. But, you know in your heart when this exists, even when the word, "love", is not uttered.

This reminds me of incidents when I went home on vacation last Christmas 1996. Dorothy, who visited us for a few days after Christmas until after New Year, returned the favor by inviting us to her hometown. Nearby their hometown is the famous waterfalls, visited by tourists from all over the world who come to our country. In this trip (together with the Dorothy's retinue of relatives), I was accompanied by Cindy and Jun, the daughter and son of one of my elder sisters. Since I was away from home all the time, I missed the growing up of my nephews and nieces -- one of the greatest sense of loss in my life -- I became to them a beloved uncle but not really close enough to be a confidant. This trip therefore was one of the few moments I was ever with them for an extended period -- apart from my other relatives. I was so fascinated observing Cindy and Jun because, from the beginning, I sensed a deep sense of closeness between them. Sometimes, even during the trip, they would separate themselves from the crowd and would be talking, almost in whispers, interrupted by an occasional smile or even a contained laughter. When Jun and I shared a raft together in another river (before the trek to the waterfalls), I caught a glance of Cindy, watching her brother intently -- as if saying in her heart, "I am there with you, I am your guardian, you will be safe".

It was sundown when we finished the trip to the waterfall. Again, Cindy and Jun walked together back to our car. The evening dew began to fill the air so that, with us wet from the splash of the river water, the evening cold strikes your bone like a dagger. In the darkness of the parting sun, I saw Cindy shiver a bit , so Jun placed his jacket on her and his arm around her shoulder. If you did not know that they were sister and brother, you would think that they were lovers. How intoxicating to be a witness to such love, not so much uttered but betrayed by the simple acts and glances. I was trying to understand then how such affection could become part of the character of a person and not of others.

How did Jun become so tender and loving to his sister? My sister (Manang Priming, their mother) was too practical and strict, from what I gather, observing her with them, to be the model for this tenderness -- but then again, we never know what inspires us to become who we become, sometimes. Then I remembered my brother-in-law, Mang Nanding, a very shy and reticent guy. In one of our trips, he let Jun drive the car but he was beside him. With a very low, almost imperceptible voice, he would utter one-word statements not so much to command Jun but more to impart the wisdom of his experiences with "his road". It was done with so much gentleness, so that you can almost feel in his voice the guiding love of a father to a beloved son. We went to church that morning. My brother-in-law, though not a very Catholic man, being a member of the "Masons", would go to church because of my sister. He and Jun however were separated from us in the crowded church (very common during the Christmas holidays and Lenten season in our country). I was near the outside door though, and near the end of the Mass, I saw Jun and Mang Nanding walking lazily on the ground of the church. With his arm around Jun's shoulder, Mang Nanding was talking and Jun was listening.

I knew these acts of tenderness were not just those of a dutiful son being respectful to his father (and also the other way around). Once my sisters and I, together with my nephews and nieces, were so caught up with our conversations. [My sisters love to talk, especially reminiscing about our life when we were young and very poor. (If you like reading my ramblings, you would be mesmerized, as I was when I was very young, listening to my sister bring drama to a story.) Our nephews and nieces love to listen to these stories, even if they have already memorized the details like a child would of his favorite story book (the stories I shared in "Revelations" are part of these legends). While we are not really rich, some of my nephews and nieces have reached a level of comfort so that the experiences we talk about seemed almost surreal -- to them our stories are almost a fantasy, as our parent's stories of their childhood were. I am, of course, being away from home since I was in high school, be one of the favorite topics of these talks -- whether I was there or not -- that I have become a legend to my nephews and nieces. Sometimes, one of my nephews and nieces, who is brave enough to approach me, would ask shyly about the stories their mothers told them about me. Some of these stories are really very funny and some display my very wild imagination, when I was very young. They sometimes cannot believe that I, like them, was once a kid who was as naughty as they sometimes were now. I sensed that they wish to be reasssured -- if I was like them then, as they are now when they are still kids, perhaps they could be like me when they get older.] Anyway, in one of these never-ending story-telling, when even the cat has gone to sleep listening to us, we noticed that Jun and Mang Nanding were not part of the group anymore. My sister found them asleep in their old jeep, their favorite chat place when they want to be together by themselves.

In all these, never during my entire stay with them has the word "love" been uttered from their lips or mine. It was never part of our culture to do so, especially between brother and sister, or father and son. Perhaps, it is almost superficial to utter the word. We may be able to say it in our letters but even then only very subtly, very seldom and far in-between. I remember when I was about to leave after my Christmas break, my younger sister handed me a letter and requested me not to read it until I left. I was amused by this request but I knew why (even without opening the letter) and when I did, the letter did contain the word. She does that sometimes, that is why perhaps I like her very much and I am so protective of her.

I don't want to leave you with the impression that our relationship is all music and roses. In fact, if you discovered one of the links in my homepage, you may find the story of how we can be so passionate, as a family, in the way we disagree, sometimes. And yet, in spite of this, I can see the deeper love that binds us. Home to me therefore is almost a "Shangri-la" that I go back to, if not physically then mentally, to comfort me from my own harsh realities, sometimes. My doting sisters always make me feel like a boy again. And the warmth of their love gives me comfort and shelter from the dark realities of my own world, sometimes. Yes, if only I do not want to risk boring you too much I can go on and on about stories involving my family. If only I were gifted enough, if only I can summon the words, I can write novels revealing stories about our family alone of a dream world worthy to long for. However, I have experienced this different world beyond the realms of the safe confines of my family and so I know that my "World of Dreams" can be a reality.

Going back to the main topic of this letter, it is true that it was "raw passion", that inspired me to write "World of Dreams". When I reflected further, I realized that I am writing the verse also for myself -- how I want to view this world and relate with other human beings. The verse encapsulates this philosophy in life, based on my own reality I shared glimpses with you in the above stories -- mainly of my family. You will find, if you look deeper, that many of my verses, are a presentation of my philosophies . The presentation could be as direct as in "A diamond in the riverbed", simply put as in "Be who you are" or very subtle as in "A blade of grass". [The last two verses are part of the Perach series.]

Many have been fascinated by the imagery in some of my verses, like "All these, but more". If one is to visit longer however, one would find implicit in my verses a more beautiful introspective world that I am trying to convey. But, the perception of this beauty of the introspective world depends so much on the life experiences and outlook of the reader. You are correct therefore to perceive that my verses are an intimate dialogue with the reader -- as you put it more precisely, my verse "...requires a reader who feels similar, who is in constant inner dialogue with himself - otherwise he will read the verses but not understand them, feel them...."

Whenever I read "World of Dreams" myself, it always brings back memories and many more -- it reminds me of the world I want to live in. I chose to write it very sparsely because, as I stated earlier, I want my reader to reminisce of their own world (and not be distracted or even encumbered with mine) when reading the verse. "World of Dreams" is an aspiration of one who remains young at heart forever -- in his outlook of the world and of human beings. But dreams are the beginnings of reality. Imagine the world it could be if it were to be our reality. It would indeed be a beautiful world!

Cornelio

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