Category Archives: Poetry

BOOKS: “Imagination: A Very Short Introduction” by Jennifer Anna Gosetti-Ferencei

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Imagination: A Very Short Introduction (Very Short Introductions)Imagination: A Very Short Introduction by Jennifer Anna Gosetti-Ferencei
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Amazon.in Page

This is a concise guide to the subject of imagination, the capacity to conceptualize that which does not exist in reality. Philosophy is the primary dimension through which the subject is investigated, though the insights of poets (particularly Romantics,) authors, and artists are frequently presented — in several cases, in detail. Also, the author does discuss ideas from other disciplines as relevant (e.g. psychology, anthropology, science.) This is notable, for example, in Chapter 2, which looks at early signs of imagination in the human record and the evolution of this capacity.

Philosophical views on imagination have varied to the greatest possible extent, from Plato’s belief that imagination represents untruths and is therefore dangerous to various views suggesting that imagination is a good thing, is fundamental to what it means to be human (e.g. to empathy,) and is inescapable for humans. This Plato against the world dispute is revisited in several places throughout the book. Besides those of Plato, the views of Kant, Nietzsche, Wittgenstein, and Sartre are particularly extensively examined.

Creative types will find the final chapter (Ch.6 “Creativity from invention to wonder”) the most engaging part of the book as it deals with what makes for creativity. The chapter discusses topics such as whether constraints help or hinder creativity? Take, for example, poetry: does free verse poetry produce more imaginative material, or — on the contrary — is rhymed and metered verse more innovative and novel. If you think you know the answer, you might be surprised by the arguments that have been put forth.

I enjoyed reading this book and found it thought-provoking and worthy of the time.

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Four Seasonal Haiku of Sōgi [w/ Audio]

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SPRING

Despite the storm,
 Spring's herald makes it through:
   Scent of plum blossom.

SUMMER

Abundant fireflies
 This year, but this morning 
  None are to be seen.

AUTUMN

Autumn sea:
 A boat moves, leaf-like,
  In the floating world.

WINTER

Winter rains
 Cross the mountains
  On rising clouds.

Egret Eye [Haiku]

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an egret peers
 into the lake, past
  surface reflections?

“Suicide in the Trenches” by Siegfried Sassoon [w/ Audio]

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Photo by Ernest Brooks (Imperial War Museum)
I knew a simple soldier boy
 Who grinned at life in empty joy,
 Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
 And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
 With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
 He put a bullet through his brain.
 No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
 Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
 Sneak home and pray you'll never know
 The hell where youth and laughter go.

Psychedelia at First Light [Lyric Poem]

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When early morning sunlight warms
     The vibrant lakeside greenery,
 All of those cave-like lakeside trails
    turn psychedelic scenery. 

 The leaves become so translucent
    Butterfly and bee silhouettes 
 Stretch out at distorted angles --
    Beasts beyond being caught with nets.

  Despite being sober and fresh 
    The mind reels or seeks to reset.

Blindspot [Free Verse]

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A culture is a vehicle
     we use to move
       through 
     this world.

And like all vehicles -
     be it truck or bus -
          it 
     has blindspots.

Everyone in a given
     vehicle has the same
          blindspots...

That's why we travel.

Budding [Senryū]

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budding limbs:
 vibrant growth unseen from
  the city beyond.

“On Laozi” by Bai Juyi [w/ Audio]

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"The ignorant speak, while the wise keep silent."
 I read the words of Laozi.
 But if Laozi knew the Way,
 Why did he write those five thousand characters?

Creekside Wildflowers [Haiku]

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wildflowers sway
 over the creek's cool water,
  stirred by thermals.

“Conscientious Objector” by Edna St. Vincent Millay [w/ Audio]

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I shall die, but
   that is all that I shall do for Death.
 I hear him leading his horse out of the stall;
 I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.
 He is in haste; he has business in Cuba,
   business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning.
 But I will not hold the bridle
   while he clinches the girth.
 And he may mount by himself:
 I will not give him a leg up.

Though he flick my shoulders with his whip,
   I will not tell him which way the fox ran.
 With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where
   the black boy hides in the swamp.
 I shall, die, but that is all that I shall do for Death;
  I am not on his pay-roll.

I will not tell him the whereabout of my friends
   nor of my enemies either.
 Though he promise me much,
   I will not map him the route to any man's door.
 Am I a spy in the land of the living,
   that I should deliver men to Death?
Brother, the password and the plans of our city
  are safe with me; never through me Shall you be overcome.