This poem was originally posted as a draft on July 7 - titled "Numbers". Subsequently, based upon all of the changes recommended, it was revised and become "Numbers 2.0" and later "Number 2.1"..

Every day we post and read poems totally written around the "definition of Words" For the non "Math Geeks" - what I am attempting with this particular poem is specifically write with the terminology and jargon of math theory and set theory. For Ted, it's not about anything metaphysical or mystical. But it uses those specific words and phrases to try and describe human existence. The "Literati of words" often use the metaphors of Literature - often drawing upon images of classical writings, mythology and fables. This poem is specifically written to draw upon the concepts and images of the world of Mathematics by using such math terms as real, imaginary, infinite, discrete, perfect, imperfect, rational, irrational, excessive, limited, prime, cipher and divisible.

What I find curious now is that many commented that this was not even a poem. Yet, repeatedly over that last few days, those self-same individuals have repeatedly stated, in Post-Modernist jargon, that a poem is whatever the writer says it is.. Paul Brenin even went so far also say that you cannot "define" poetry. In any case, here is version 3.0

Numbers 3.0

“When One made love to Zero,
spheres embraced their arches
prime numbers caught their breath"

Raymond Queneau

I sometimes wonder if
I’m being excessively irrational.
in the prime of my life
with infinite possibilities,
limited by only imagination, yet
confounded by the complexity of
an imperfect world

There’s something dehumanizing
about being treated like a number
a mere cog – a cipher
existence reduced to a measurement
“greatness” judged by our height
rather than how high we reach

Desperately I yearn
for a world belonging
to those with the passion
to somehow make the numbers dance
A world where each is an individual
prime numbers divisible
only by themselves.



d;-)

It's good that you've gotten rid of the dreamy adjectives and qualifiers that marked your first draft ; this reads more confidently. Still, there is a jarring shift in tone--despite the line breaks , stanzas are not poetry but prose, to my ear, and read as if they've been plucked from the middle of an essay. Stanza three suddenly shifts into Poetic Gear where the fabled Searcher for Truth "desperately" yearns for a perfect world where rational beings can make numeric abstraction achieve something as elegant as any fine work of art. I understand the desire to get this into a poem, but you're tendency is to tell rather than reveal, to name rather than describe what is already there . That habit remains in your third version-- ridding yourself of the "poetic' words is not enough. You need a new tact. Set this aside, leave it alone, and attempt to get your notions across through a rigorous treatment of things, using the precise words to have your arrangement of images resonate with the numeric values you cherish , without directly addressing the mathematical issue at all. That is the poetic challenge--taking something you've been thinking about and doing something with it even you didn't expect.

Good point. I DO have that tendency, one that has been pointed out on numerous occasions. I also wondered, upon re-reading this morning, If the poem would not benefit by reversing the order of the first and second stanza.

But I think you're right. We will see whether I get any additional comments today, and then I will put this poems away for a while again until I can approach it from a fresh perspective.

Thanks for your comments, Ted.

d;-)

Numbers 3.1

“When One made love to Zero,
spheres embraced their arches
prime numbers caught their breath"

Raymond Queneau

There’s something dehumanizing
about being treated like a number
a mere cog – a cipher
existence reduced to a measurement
“greatness” judged by our height
rather than how high we reach

And I sometimes wonder if
I’m being excessively irrational.
In the prime of my life
with infinite possibilities,
limited by only imagination, yet
confounded by the complexity of
an imperfect world

Desperately I yearn
for a world belonging
to those with the passion
to somehow make the numbers dance
A world where each is an individual
prime numbers divisible
only by themselves.

d;-)

“The Ultimate Answer to the Ultimate Question about Life,
the Universe and Everything is . . . . 42”

- The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

(Thanks White Rabbit for the final Quote.
Somehow it seems "right" for this poem)

denny, it;s your turn in the Thurs OPP rotation to do this week's OPP. Please respond so I know you've read this.

A few suggestions --

Post only a single poem.

Choose a poem that lends itself to good discussion.

Feel free to use a link to the poem if necessary; others of us have done it with no problem.

Allow people to have their own opinions of the poem. As I remember with the Spasmodic poet, everytime someone said something negative about the poem, you responded with even more poems and even more assertions. The Thurs OPP is just like the Tuesday Pick. Some will like it, and some won't.

I will stick to one posted poem. Can I provide Links to others by the same writer as a "secondary post" (responding to the first) ? Sorry if you felt my follow-up amplifications on the "Spasmodic poets" were inapprortiate. Just trying to provide more information and insight and keep the original post shorter.

d;-)

Can I provide Links to others by the same writer as a "secondary post" (responding to the first) ?

denny, why don't you wait until much later in the day before doing that? Let lots of folks focus first on a single poem.

d;-)

There's no appreciable difference between this and your last version. What I have in mind is for you to get beyond the metaphysical trappings that tend to trip you up and write about the precision of numbers brings order to our lives, or forces us to reassess things we take for granted. An example:

Numbers Mary Cornish

I like the generosity of numbers.
The way, for example,
they are willing to count
anything or anyone:
two pickles, one door to the room,
eight dancers dressed as swans.

I like the domesticity of addition--
add two cups of milk and stir--
the sense of plenty: six plums
on the ground, three more
falling from the tree.

And multiplication's school
of fish times fish,
whose silver bodies breed
beneath the shadow
of a boat.

Even subtraction is never loss,
just addition somewhere else:
five sparrows take away two,
the two in someone else's
garden now.

There's an amplitude to long division,
as it opens Chinese take-out
box by paper box,
inside every folded cookie
a new fortune.

And I never fail to be surprised
by the gift of an odd remainder,
footloose at the end:
forty-seven divided by eleven equals four,
with three remaining.

Three boys beyond their mothers' call,
two Italians off to the sea,
one sock that isn't anywhere you look.

Cute, perhaps, but this does get to something about numbers that brings them in line with experiences we recognize. We regard some things we take for granted in new ways. You desire to remain abstract, which is a mistake, I think. You should just put this aside and start over again; stop trying to be a philosopher and treat instead what's actually in front of you.

,

Personally - I LIKED the way that Numbers 3.1 finally turned out - thanks to all the help and suggestions that i received from everyone. And, as we all keep saying - no one poem is going to please everyone. And this poem accomplished what "I" wanted it to do. It incrporates the general theme that i had in my mind, which was to use the "jargon" of number and set theory and also relate it to human existence -

A contrast between -

"being treated like a number
a mere cog – a cipher
existence reduced to a measurement"

and -

"A world where each is an individual
prime numbers divisible
only by themselves."

But do not think that I don't hear you - and I appreciate your comments - and the poem by Mary Cornish.

d;-)

Denny, your poem needs a soundtrack:

<link>

enjoy,

NS

Good choice - I was thinking -

Theme Song 1

Theme Song 2

TAP

d;-)

It's dehumanizing
being treated like a number
a mere cog – a cipher
existence reduced to a measurement
“greatness” judged by our height
rather than how high we reach

I wonder
Am I excessively irrational?
In the prime of life
with infinite possibilities,
limited by only imagination, yet
confounded by the complexity of
an imperfect world

Desperately I yearn
for an world belonging
to those with the passion
to somehow make the numbers dance
An imaginary world where each is an individual
prime numbers divisible
only by themselves.

I'm not fully awake yet. Probably need a couple more cups of strong coffee. Like they have in the poetry section of my local Borders.

I'm not sure I like the changes to the last stanza.

before it was -

"Desperately I yearn
for a world belonging
to those with the passion
to somehow make the numbers dance
A world where each is an individual
prime numbers divisible
only by themselves"

I don't want that world to be "imaginary" in that sense. But I see where you are going - perhaps another word (?)

d;-).

Two things:

1. Not usuing imaginary is a huge hole.

2. Until the world is made perfect again, it exists only in our imaginations.