PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

On the contrary, I should be: On the contrary, I should be thanking you, and I do, for your Poetry.  No comment on your Poems would exist without them, and the Poems are always the First cause and the Last word in their authority over the comments.  I am privileged to be able to watch your collection expand, poem by poem, as posted by a living Poet; whereas, during my undergrad years, I could only imagine what it must have been like for the dead Poets that I then admired.  I could only, then, imagine what that would have been like; now, four decades later, and a little more mature than I was, I am able to experience the live version.  And for that privilege, I am most humbly and heartily grateful to you.

You went above and beyond any: You went above and beyond any encouragement I could ever hope for. This elegant, symmetrical, perfect gift puts the most validating stamp of approval on my vision and my purpose in writing. How can I thank you? There are no words. 

As soon as I read this poem,: As soon as I read this poem, I began to wonder how to adequately summarize your poetic achievement, and how to set such a summary in verse.  Theology / Cosmology / Philosophy / and Astronomy / converge together when summoned by your Poetry. I will post this later to my own site as a poem, but I sincerely believe that it summarizes your great literary acomplishment here, and I also believe that this poem encapsulizes that accomplishment.  The range of your verse, across all your poems, is stated in this poem:  "terrifying galaxies live subatomic lives."  You also describe creation in terms that, I sincerely think, would be applauded by the Apostle Saint John (the Poet among the Twelve, to whose literary tradition you definitely belong):  ". . . imagined and / adored into existence by something capable / of ungraspable goodness." This poem is like a honeycomb, with four flavors of honey; or a tapestry, with threads of four colors:  theology, cosmology, astronomy and philosophy---and the profound skill of your Poetry gathers them together---distills, mixes and ballances them---and then bestows the finished artistry on your readers here at postpoems.   Our---that is, the United States'---two great outer space telescopes, the Hubble and the James Webb give us glimpses of deep space that we would never, without them, have acquired.  You do the same with your poems (and at no expense to NASA or the American taxpayers), but with one distinct difference.  The Hubble and Webb cannot explain the images they deliver.  But your Poems explain the meaning of what they describe.  I happen to believe that humanity is alone in the Universe---which, if true, is not cause for arrogance but for accepting and growing up and into an awesome responsibility:  to tell the Cosmos about itself, the way our own souls explain, or attempt to explain, our existences to ourselves.  Poets have the chiefest role, and the heaviest portion, of this responsibility.  Since the Alexandrian Poets, during the Ptolemaic dynasty in Egypt, first set forth the proposition that Poetry had more of a function than merely telling of the fall of Troy, or the voyage of the Argo:  it had a function of setting forth both spiritual and material truths.  You have not only inherited that mantle:  you also wear it as if it had been designed especially for you.  Each of your individual poems are fully functional units; yet, like instruments of an orchestra, or colors on a painter's palette, or chips in a computer, they are also part of a greater array that also has its own function.  And you demonstrate this self-evident truth each time you post one of your magnificent poems . . . like this one.

A wry and entertaining: A wry and entertaining instructional example of disastrous composition that only a true, knowledgeable poet can get away with posting. Cautionary examples in your sardonic parody are: The "Lurking, Shambling Do-Does-Did"; a cliche, forced rhymes, half rhymes and some assorted, playful awkwardness.   Now for an on-the-level comment on your satirical poem: Callimachus is not dead. His legacy lives on in your own scholarly discernment and appreciation of poetry, and I am fully convinced that you too hold sway over words like the legendary Callimachus.   A fun piece. Enjoyed!

Indeed! The exchange of: Indeed! The exchange of thought and sentiment kind of falls flat when attempting a conversation with a veritable "dead poet."

Thank you most kindly, dear: Thank you most kindly, dear poet. To practise observation excercises awareness which in turn increases our scope of which a lifelong goal of growth is set. It's a slow, long process. Your validation brings gladness of heart.