Day: January 23, 2014

unthought known

ttcbs's avataran a to z of things that can't be said

The unthought known is a wonderful term, coined by the psychoanalyst Christopher Bollas (1987). In very general terms it refers to what we ‘know’ at some level, but cannot be put into words. The detail of this ‘some level’ and why such knowledge cannot be said emerges from his understanding of how selfhood is formed through otherness:

‘the concept of the self should refer to the positions or points of view from which and through which we sense, feel, observe, and reflect on distinct and separate experiences in our being. One crucial point of view comes through the other who experiences us’ (pp. 9–10)

The ‘other’ is first experienced as a process of self-transformation, be it from hungry to full, cold to warm, discomforted to comfortable. But Bollas (1987) also claims that the pursuit of “symbolic equivalents” to the transformational object is in fact central to the identifications we make…

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She loved an adverb more than me

 
 
Image

 

My wife has left me for an adverb.
I don't know which one it is!
Is it slowly,quickly, nearly?
Life should not be like a quiz.

She told me that she "nearly" loved me,
When "dearly" was what I had hoped.
Life is full of lost illusions...
How do we 'reaved lovers cope

I think I should have kept it secret,
For now I sit and sadly grieve.
Do you think my wife is cruel?
What a strange excuse to leave!

Would she leave me for a pronoun?
Would she leave for a full stop?
Would I leave you for a quote mark?
Would I fall down in a black dot?

Come back,darling for I love you.
I have learned I must take care.
I will go for grammar lessons.
I am sure I can learn flair!

We can write a poem together,
You can choose the topic,dear.
I will hold my pen and write for
They say true love drives out fear.

Did I fear her? Did I love her?
Was she worthy of my heart?
Did she dislike my hairy nostrils?
Was that why we had to part?

Come back Mary,come back Mavis.
Come back Sunny, come back Sue
Without my wife I feel so lonely.
What is a left man to do?

Shall I vote for love or money?
Shall I throw my self away?
Shall I get a new agenda?
Will a new life start today?

Come back Miriam,come back Sarah!
Where have all the women gone?
Come back Rivka with your grammar.
I can feed you a cheese scone.

I work hard and I can cook.
I put fresh linen on the bed.
I can pay my bills in full.
But without my Love,my heart is dead

Love knows what to do

Love knows what to do

Mind the gap...
Mind the gap… (Photo credit: asparagus_hunter)

Some folk are made of rubber

Some folk are made of glass

And when the stormy winds blow

Rubber lets it pass.

i

Some folk have eyes like water

Some folk have eyes like ice.

And when we’re introduced

We do not look there twice.

 

 

Some folk have learned to use us

Some folk give us respect.

With those who cannot see us

We cannot  connect.

 

 

Some folk where born  to sunshine

Some folk were born to storm

And fears imagined in the mind

Can cause such dreadful harm

 

 

Oh,hold me to your bosom

Oh.hold me close to you

Some folk were made to hate and fear

But love knows what to do

 

Oh,let me feel your body

let me cherish you

Some folk  have been neglected,

But love knows what to do

The skylark

Freed from her trap
Bird soared into air,and hovered
And floated, resting;
And flew higher, singing as she flew,
And higher again,
Till there was only her song,
Left in the silence,
Trembling.

Up on the wide,stump topped hill,
I felt the lark inside my heart
And heard her singing.
And flying up with her,
I saw gold sun and silver moon,
Moors of heather ,and sheep grazing
Green hills,
And shimmering lakes,
Clouds ,sun and sky in watery mirrors.
And sang ,and dipped,and dropped,
And curled
Up the blue
Bright heaven, and rested
On the wind.
All that day
I was a lark singing.

I shall always have a vision of
A bird
That flew upwards,
Rejoicing and free
Into a deep blue sky, and high
And higher
Beyond high
Into a place, beyond eye even,
But music still sending.

I wish I were back on that heathery moor,
With the nibbling sheep and the bees sweetly humming,
Hearing again
The poignant song
Of the skylark,
A prisoner,freed by a magician,
From her trap,
So happy to be free,
So wonderful to see.
Do it again,
For me,