Life

dbremner

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.

  • Author: dbremner (Offline Offline)
  • Published: January 14th, 2011 01:33
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 39
  • Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
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Comments +

Comments3

  • Cheeky Missy

    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.

    • dbremner

      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.

      • Cheeky Missy

        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!!

      • Belinda AMeharry

        This is such a sad poem.
        We do have a creator.
        I see this about a book, thank God for that.

      • Emi

        This is amazing! I love this. 🙂



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