Do you feel it, as I do?
As you lie on the floor
Scratching and scrabbling
In the horror of your existence
Do you feel its weight?
Its awful, crushing weight
As the realisation
Sweeps over you in a wave
That you exist
Just like a plastic cup
Except that it has a creator
And you do not
Do you convulse at the thought?
At the meaning of this
That you yourself must make
Essence for your life
If I look at a clock
It throws itself at me
Detaches from the wall
And beats me with its hands
Now I feel it
Why must I feel it again?
This sweet Nausea
That paralyses me so
Did I think?
Did I really believe?
That I could in some way
Impact on your life
I thought that you were happy
When you were here with me
I thought that you were sad
Should I not be around
Well if you were
If you were at all
It was through YOUR choosing
And as quickly you chose not to
And now to me
You are like a cup, a clock
Unresponsive to my thoughts
Indifferent to my actions
Well I shall choose
To live my life
As a Sartrean man
And define myself - by myself
And then I won't fear
This Nausea
I'll dive in it - bathe in it
And vanish in its depths
Then rise once more
Filled with purpose
And this shall be my testimony
That I share with you.
"Objects should not touch because they are not alive. You use them, put them back in place, you live among them. They are useful nothing more. But they touch me, it is unbearable. I am afraid of being in contact with them as though they were living beasts" Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea
"How strange too and unfamiliar to think that one had been loved, that ones presence had once had the power to make a difference between happiness and dullness in another's day" Graham Greene, The End of the Affair.
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Author:
dbremner (
Offline) - Published: January 14th, 2011 01:33
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 39
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
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Comments3
It is such a bitter poem....and so hopeless too...ending defiantly at the inevitable miseries we must generally all face. But we DO have a Creator, and He does give us all purpose....if only He would open all our eyes to see, and quicken us, giving us Hope to live what He has given us.....I so wish I might somehow comfort you, but then am at a loss how to do so. If I may say so to you...seek the Lord evermore...He IS Life.....don't become a bitter island, hardening your heart lest anymore crush you,...please? And....Remember Me.
Please don't read in to it too much! I was really trying to draw together themes from two of my favourite novels in a poem, hence the quotes at the bottom. As for the ending, Sartre proposed that the Nausea which is effectively recognition of ones own existence was a temporary 'horror' in that there was no human nature to guide a person, they were/are entirely responsible for themselves. Hence he coined the term we are 'condemned to be free'. However once we accept this there is a great freedom and opportunity to give meaning to our lives and the Nausea no longer affects us. He thought that most people never realise this and spend their lives in an inauthentic manner hiding behind the rules/ expectations of religion, social class, etc.
Thank you very much for explaining! I do much appreciate it! As I have read neither book, I cannot really say, but I suspect you've done a good job in tribute to these two favourite novels....thanks again for explaining!!
This is such a sad poem.
We do have a creator.
I see this about a book, thank God for that.
This is amazing! I love this. 🙂
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