Because I do not hope to know

The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is
nothing again

'Ash Wednesday' (T.S. Eliot) is my favourite poem.
And it always makes me hope. But right now I am worried in my hope. I refuse to despair but I would be a fool not to see how far down I've fallen. I can barely perform the basics. I am trying to do uni work and concentrating is almost impossible - I can't even finish a short story (studying English Lit). Poetry makes sense more easily than anything else but my brain draws connections that are too far-fetched and 'sees' things that are not really there. I have work in the morning as an advisor, helping people with their essays - grammar, structure etc - and I have no idea how I'm going to do that. I have already started falling behind in everything and I miss my life. I want it back!! And I'm troubled that this want alone isn't enough for me to get it back. And I'm so tired that I almost wish I didn't want it back because it would be easier, I could fool myself I don't care and stop hurting more because I try and try and I just can't do.

My mum is coming tomorrow and I see the pdoc on Tuesday next week. But I think I'll ring tomorrow to see if I can see her sooner. It's not so much that I can't bear the emptiness, there are enough harmless drugs to keep one comfortably numb and enough tv shows that will do just the same, but all this time that I'm trapped in here, time is passing and I feel I'm dead to all that matters to the healthy me. How late is it going to be when I wake? Will I have the strength to rebuild? I have to believe I will...

Although I do not hope to turn again
Although I do not hope
Although I do not hope to turn

Wavering between the profit and the loss
In this brief transit where the dreams cross
The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying
(Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things
From the wide window towards the granite shore
The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying
Unbroken wings

And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices
In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices
And the weak spirit quickens to rebel
For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell
Quickens to recover
The cry of quail and the whirling plover
And the blind eye creates
The empty forms between the ivory gates
And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth

This is the time of tension between dying and birth
The place of solitude where three dreams cross
Between blue rocks
But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away
Let the other yew be shaken and reply.

Sorry you are having such a rough go, SadRobot... I hope it turns around for you soon. Know what you mean about not being able to imagine what it would be like to get "it" back. You will have the strength to rebuild and I'm glad you know this deep down too.

Nice poems. You know, I envy you this ability*. Your ability is very likely due to your being able to draw those connections -- even if they seem "far-fetched" to others. Bet those connections and what you 'see" are actually are there. That's a great thing! At the very least, they are there for you, and that's one of the beauties of poetry (and also music) -- to be open to multiple interpretations. Yours are as valid as anyone else's.

*(See, my BF has written considerable amounts of poetry (his hero is Dylan Thomas). I've read them. They've even brought me to tears despite having only the vaguest clue. I want so much to be able to really get it! No problem there in music or visual arts (I live that, and if anyone were to be able to pick up on the interconnectedness in my work --that actually is there -- and very purposeful -- I'd be astounded and infinitely grateful for it to be understood in that way), so why does written poetry elude me so? Hearing it read helps a lot. Still, it's very frustrating not to be able to make the same leaps of understanding as in the other art forms...) So, again, I envy you this ability.

Hope your appointment goes well. Please keep us posted, ok? (and so you know you're not alone, I moved an appt. up for the very first time just this week and feel the same way. Yes, I could get by too, but... ) Hugs and kudos to you for recognizing this, SadRobot!

Thank you so much for your support Innerzone. And lots of hugs to you too every day of this week until you see your pdoc

It is very interesting you saying that about music and visual arts and then poetry - actually I'm thinking of writing my dissertation on that subject if I manage to actually start my MA next year! I find the relationship between the visual arts and literature fascinating, and I have the opposite 'problem' to you. I love modern art, it can move me, it can reach into the silence better than words can a lot of the time. But if someone who doesn't get the same feeling as me and sees a Kandinsky painting, for example, as a colourful geometry project, I can't adequately explain why to me is more than that. And the same with music. I think it has to do with training but also just how your brain reacts to different things - I have a friend who is an artist and often I will try to say what I think of his work and he says 'you really try to analyse this as a text don't you?' And most people find poetry easier than visual arts in consciously understanding what is going on, so you should be very proud of your ability too!! It's rare and shows great depth of feeling and ability in abstract thinking.
What matters is that you can appreciate poetry, and appreciate it with your heart, it speaks to you, which is the point anyway

But I wish I was an artist myself. When words fail all I can do is paint and it takes a lot of 'brainwashing' to not care that my poor skills can't give me what I want in expressing myself.

At some point you should tell me more about your artwork, if you want, or show me something I promise not to analyse it as a text, I'm just interested!