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Poetry
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| Ripening | |
| By patterjack | ||||||||
| 11 June 2007 | ||||||||
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Ripening The Bard said , and it's true , that it's our lot that first we ripe and ripe , then rot and rot. He had not been the first , and we can say that even before his time it was cliche. But somehow when in his dramatic works we strike it in Lear , and from the Fool in As You Like It , the cliche disappears . In those past times he referred to well known issues , wider , deeper about the body politic as mankind's keeper . But modern interpretations have narrowed the sweep of that outreaching vision , and we keep looking into ourselves in mirrored reflection and substituting now the angst of introspection . And that is the kind of inward looking rubbish that adolescent poets use to furbish their plaintive wails that they cannot connect with the world around them that they , in fact , reject ! Their shattered hearts bring confusion to the brain and they swear they cannot live to love again ! The lovers then turn murderous when dejected and in beginner's prose the theme can be detected though heavily disguised and overlaid with gore , but with spiritual disintegration at the core . Ghouls and vampires all therein abound and the only sort of spirit to be found are those of malevolent maleficent kind as objective concepts to which the novices bind each over heated heart and vapid mind . And so in self made miseries they wallow describing it in terms too hard to swallow. If it stopped there one could readily forgive for as yet they have not really learned to live . But the rot spreads outwards , like water stained with oil and everything around begins to spoil so that others then decide that they need harbour a penchant for the weird and the macabre . Away with truth then , reality's forgotten and over ripeness leads only to the rotten .
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