Fading of the Night (New Poem) With Poet's Afterword

"Fading of the Night"
by Tim Kavi

dancing in the firelight
flaming embers
fled in the night
chased our passions
to the grove

under the smell of
mangos
and salt air
waves crashing
at the beach

I kissed you
goddess

you kissed back
and night's black
disappeared
into thin air

your love
brings the precious
day
where night had
always been
where I hid
ashamed
of all
the things I did

yet you loved
me
though I am
imperfect
you loved
me
broken in pieces

your love
brought me
from the brink

yet you did not
want to always be
the only one that saved us

so in our next kiss
it was our love
that brought us both
back from the abyss.

poet's brief afterword: a poem about the redemptive qualities of love. The word 'abyss' at the end of the poem is used in a Buberian sense. If Buber's German word was used instead, it would be his word for mismeeting: vergegnung. Consequently, it is the power of their love for each other that has brought the lovers back from a significant misunderstanding, disagreement, or falling out. Also the abyss used in an existential sense often means a significant gap between two persons, realities, or cultures, or a psychological sense of deep seprateness or separation--so that a (temporary) sense of despair might follow.--T.K.

Goddess at the Park (New Poem)

"Goddess at the Park"
by Tim Kavi

kind and gentle
it adorns her
posseses her
with every ounce
of her being

she is
the kind of woman
that is so kind
she doesn't want
to hurt anyone

it is her
goddess
the world is seeing

everytime she moves
with her young
they are happy
at the love
she has brung

I watch her
moving there
at the park
and everywhere

she doesn't
know it
but I love her so

how I wish
to return her
kindness
with a love
that never ends

and to hold
her heart
beginning as the
nicest friends

that is already
our journey
to each other

I hope she sees
that I love her.

poet's afterthought: This is either a very sad poem of intense longing, or the poem of a man admiring his love from afar. Actually this poem was written after a man looked at a photograph of his love playing in the park with children. He actually saw the photo twice: once before he knew her (the perspective the poem is written from) and now reflecting back on that time, after he knows her love.--T.K.

Blog Special: "Children of the Social Darwinists" (New Poem with Brief Comment)

"Children of the Social Darwinists"
by Tim Kavi

when in the summer's solace
there was little respite
from the heat
children still played
in the street

sounds of music
filled the air
as children bought
their ice creams there

jumping ropes
sliding in the pool
who will come to what?

what will they do?

some sought
their fortunes
there

later some will say:
what luck is this?
if it weren't
such a strange fate

I would storm
heaven's gate!

why will some
succeed
why will some
die early?
struck down
in their burley

some die in need
some are
consumed with
replication
of their seed

some will live
even longer
because of their
greed
and businesses
belonging
to the adroit

to exploit
the weaker
vulnerable
naive

that
those
no one knows
or cared to see

are perceived weaker
on the cutting chafe
ride their rages
in obscurities

not part of the elite

although some
think they do
know
as long as
as their genetic
code
can be read

but the bonds
have been bowed
there is no
predictability


with any certainty

we all unfold
in terms of other
seeds of destiny.

Poet's Brief Comment: This poem previously unpublished, will be included in my collection City of Night (a collection of darker poems) that will be published in November of 2009. It is certainly one of my most obscure poems and hard to understand. It is a critique of genetic determinism, and states that things play out in ways that cannot be predicted based on genes alone. The 'bonds have bowed'--points to the failure of DNA to really predict anything.

Unfolding Composition (New Poem with Poet's Commentary)

Unfolding Composition
by Tim Kavi

There in the moment
such gentle composition
I am inside you
our minds touching
souls mingled
in dialectical encounter

our joint expression unfolds
emerging
like a constant river
that flows
from the mountains
to the mighty oceans

This composed life and love
is majestic and formed
by You and Me

In a journey
in a flowing
cascading revelation
of matter
and mind

two spirits
are made free
let loose from
the tombs
of suffering
existential death

until there is no dearth
no burning desire
only a birth

In our love.

Poet's Commentary: Another poem by the crazy singing poet in love. This is a melody that unfolds in the present moment on a sheet of musical composition paper stretched across a collapsing universe that expanded to the point where there was no holding back. Starting at the first stanza we see: yes it is in the Present (our only reality), we see a gentle love, yes they are 'inside' each other in every sense. There is an inside knowing each other where nothing is hidden, yes this is the promise of a new love as well as the bliss of a consummated love, and a love that is inside each other right now. Minds and souls are touching and yes it is a dialectic of two Others mingled. In the second stanza, we see they have become one as a joint expression, and are flowing through time together on a journey that flows that through Nature itself. It is a journey as natural as water going from the mountains to the sea. In this we know, Water is a source of life and nourishment, yet a mighty force that even generates power. (There is also a paradox here, as how can a changing river in flux be constant? But it is both). Nature is the channel for this love. In the third stanza, we are reminded that the life and love is a joint composition that requires two composers; You and Me. The 'You and Me' is certainly a reference to Martin Buber's philosophy as well as a reference to a specific two persons who are in love. Stanza four shows that theirs is a journey, a cascading one of both matter and mind. It is revelatory. (Mystics do not use such words lightly). It is both material and spirit (matter and mind) if we make such an artificial split, it is basically ALL. Stanza Five, we are now back to the duality of these two persons in love, as they both realize that their love has set them both free from death and suffering. Finally in the sixth stanza, we realize after the setting free there is no dearth, nothing lacking, yet even beyond desire (when the flames of passion have not so roared), there is yet a birth--with the concluding line--'in our love'. --T.K.

Brief Essay: On Love and Dialogue

This is excerpted from a letter of encouragement to a woman friend...

Love in Dialogue

Whenever we think our great love doesn't understand us--we approach him again--and find that the tender heart is still there--then we know there is always a chance for dialogue.

And if a chance for dialogue exists, then there is a clear possibility that we will understand each other and adjust to each other. Then the light of love surrounds us again! Of course in that understanding, it may be just that we understand each other's view--but as my teachers taught me, we will be changed and adjust to each other very often as the result of such dialogue. -- T.K.

At a Moroccan Wedding (New Poem) with Comment

At a Moroccan Wedding
by Tim Kavi

happy couples
inspire us all
to seize love
face love
in it be tall
and when moments
like this
reward that search
we know
we have loved
powerfully
strongly
and made history

so made brave
by our love
we confidently
face life

together as
husband and wife !

Poet's Comment: This poem was written for a friend after I saw her wedding photos. I congratulate the lovely couple so full of love!

2 New Poems in a Searching Style

Two New Poems in a New Searching Style

by Tim Kavi

"Bring Again Forgotten Words
to our Passion's Bed"

by Tim Kavi

gentle breezes
swirling winds
when man
and woman
have speeches
again

peaceful passion
rumbling
thunderheads

soft pillows
tossed sheets
bending beds

until the
river's valley
cuts a new course

in the tents of
desire

it is no more
he said
she said
for both
say in
strengthened
passion

I forgot
all the troubles
as love
reared again
the strong
songs
of your redemption

in just a word
of restoration
and forgiveness

until the next
day's love was said
to visit
again and again

for all loves
have the promise
of future
love

if they just
renew the
loving kindness
of a regard

that forgets
the stones
of harsh words
in the wrinkles
of passion's
disappointments

to ride
the glorious
overcoming sea.

"Grand Junction in the Eternal City"

by Tim Kavi

when in the sounds
of the departing trains
clicked down the tracks
leaving the towns

He headed to a new place
the train moved faster now
soon nebulas
stars and galaxies
streamed past

there was a list
of former selves
left behind

they all had a thread
of identity
tied at whistle stops
along the tracks

they loved hard
and died fast
in the music
the art
and the suffering
of war
that bled
along the tracks

there were only
brief seconds
of departing
sad tears
for as soon
as one blur
moved past

he met himself
coming round
the bend
in a mobius
fact

until the train
finally
stopped in the
dying of
the light

it chugged
and steamed
shone
and gleamed
in the promise
of its next
departure

all the stops
he had already begun
so, he laughed:
"I get to ride again!"

poet's note: there is progressive linear movement in these poems that bends again across time, stopping points, between the words and disagreements of a man and woman, time stops moving only in the face of non existence to be swallowed up by a coming back again in a wheel of eternal recurrence that bends and meets itself again like some topological Mobius strip. The poem about trains is an indirect homage to Einstein who had a lot to say about trains in his discussion of relativity.--TK

"Love and History (After the Revolution)" (New Poem with Brief Poet's comment)

"Love and History(After the Revolution)"

by Tim Kavi

when across
the fragrance
of time

our forefathers
jumped
there was the great
undoing
of greatness

creating history
never looked
so easy

the morning after
the blood in the
streets was washed
clean

somewhere
in a back alley
in a small bed
a man lies
dreaming
perchance

clinging
to a desperate hope
that life might
get better

he is history

next to him a woman
lies sleeping
they are so far apart
she longs to show him
her loving heart
romance

she is love

he recalls
plainly the blessed
rains pouring
remembering
when the drops
were wetter

cleansing his
very soul
in a land
once so free

but now
there is no curing
even the caged
birds
sing the same
longing
just to be

the man
dreams he is in
a cool dark
place
really it is
a prison
in fetter

but there
is no way out
until the next
revolution's
dialectical dance

it burns at his heart
for he truly
sings to be free
as it was in love

when he first met her.

brief poet's comment: in this I see the wheel of dialectics, inescapable, yet history progresses, or is progress regress? I also see the collapse of history, without the rising of love. I see the revolutions and dialectics of masculine warlike desires in the lust for power (by any who embrace it), becoming one sided and corrupt. Such are ultimately and hopefully swallowed up by the truer power of the feminine--that is always only nearby if only a man (or such) would open themselves up to the power of eternal woman !

My Fiction Writing

My Fiction Writing
by Tim Kavi

I am writing a novel, but I will be honest with you, I am most unhappy with it at times. Someone said though to get that first rough draft done quickly and rewrite, rewrite, afterwards. Perhaps there is a lesson here for me. There is the story, the vision in our hearts, and that which gets put on the page. Sometimes it seems so different! Many of my writer friends and editors I know in the business (some of them quite well known) have told me secretly that to be 'successful' novel writers in the US, a novel must be fast paced, brisk, and with an engaging storyline but not too complex. One even told me that it should be written so as to seem to not be beyond a fifth grade reading level ! *

I was bothered by this, but I guess I can see the truth in this for the mass audience. I do not like to dumb down my plots or storylines, and there are plenty of mainstream novelists (as opposed to popular novelists) who dont like to do it either, and don't, but they are already published, have a fan and reader base, and can sell almost anything they write. (Well maybe if they stick to what they were 'successful' at in the past).

As far as short stories, you know, I think my fiction stories don't read well, and Nancy Kress has it right, in: Beginnings, Middles and Ends, good fiction has to have a good opening, a middle story line, and ending. I am fairly good at story lines and endings...but my openings suck. In this book, Kress mentions the story in your head and spends a lot of excellent time (in the opening of her book) explaining how to write and revise your beginnings in fiction writing.

Also some critics (and I dont know who), once said that poets never make good fiction writers. Also screenwriters have told me that sometimes they have a hard time making the transition from writing for the cinema to fiction.

You know I dont want to believe this, although there may be a point here. Maybe writers should stick to what they know best. But maybe that should is too limiting. So far, I have been primarily a published nonfiction writer and poet. Yet, I long for more.

I know I have a long way to go. But you know, as far as fiction, I keep trying and my rejection slips prove it.

I will not give up. Every day is a learning experience. And I will again say the best way to improve your writing, is to keep trying, and to keep on writing. Perseverance is the breakfast of all who achieve! --T.K.

* I researched this and according to askville.com (by amazon) the average reading level is the 8th - 9th grade level in the US, but many popular publications are written to lower levels than that, and many fiction writers write to the 7th grade level. And the research that was cited showed that one in five US readers has only a fifth-grade reading level. Click Here to View.

UPDATE: It's 2023 (14 years later) and I have now written novels (under various pen names), have made the transition, and have received outstanding reviews from Publishers Weekly, Kirkus Reviews, and others. They are appreciated by readers, found in public libraries, and are award-winning. So  I guess persistence and perseverance do pay off! ~~TK

On the Writer as Reader

"On the Writer as Reader"
by Tim Kavi


My learning experiences at writing are a mixed bag. The writer does in solitude what readers will come to enjoy, if he or she is lucky and skillful.

Stephen King said that those that attempt writing ought to write four hours a day and read four hours a day. Now admittedly we who work as well as write might not have that much time to devote to our craft, but it is not doubtful at all that good writers are readers.

Now, we might not read things in the same way as the non writer. It is like the athlete watching another athlete, the musician attending another musician's performance, a doctor watching another doctor's technique. We see things differently when we read, we writers.

Many established writers have commented upon this. That we read with an appreciation for the style, the craft, the techniques that are missed by the lay reader, is clearly evident.

To me it is a rich experience, I am very happy and instructed by reading those that do their craft well and although I am still learning when I edit my own prose, I am painfully aware of the shortcomings of my own work. This notice in the act of revision helps me to get better and I like that. But I appreciate a good book, story, or article more than I ever did before. And I enjoy reading more than ever!

The teaching experiences of this cannot be overlooked. Everytime I read something I go to school.

I had a valuable lesson regarding dialogue when I recently noticed James' Joyce's comments about Ernest Hemingway and his use of dialogue. Specifically, Joyce called Hemingway's short story "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place" the best story ever written in the English language. When I read it, I discovered that most of the story was dialogue--and skillfully crafted. Wow!

Now, along with my reading of books in my genres of interest and beyond these interests, I am having such a jopyful experience. I read with more depth and meaning than before. I appreciate the work the author had to do. The baring of their souls on paper. Now, I also read a number of books on writing improvement. I am reading Daine Mehta's "How to Write Poetry" and "Master Class in Fiction Writing" by Adam Sexton.

Powerful books that have already helped me. In Sexton's book we are brought along through experts like Austen's work amd Hemingway's. Also, short stories by Joyce and many other great writers to learn our craft. Along the way the book emphasizes that we read part of these authors' works to instruct us from what we read. I will read Jane Austen's "Sense and Sensibility" and Hemingway's "A Farewall to Arms" as well as Faulkner's "As I Lay Dying" as part of this helpful curriculum. (And there are many more examples that Sexton uses).

I encourage all writers everywhere to relish all they can in the dialectic of themselves and their art; the writer as reader.--T.K.

How to write

How to Write
by Tim Kavi


well it has finally happened (for better or for worse ;-) ), readers of my writing have sent emails asking: 'how to write (like Tim Kavi)'? Although I am extremely honored by such inquiries, and I appreciate such respect (albeit I hope to earn it more), the latter prospect of 'writing like Tim Kavi' is a frightening prospect. Actors get asked the same question and many artists about their art, and the answer is often the same: do your art from who you are !

Really though I suppose such inquiries basically amount to questions of : 'what method do you (as the artist) use'? (Excuse an aside, but I recall one class I had at the University of Washington in the English department called Method, Imagination, and Inquiry. This is separate from the various writing classes that taught other specific writing methods and the toolboxes such instruction provides aspiring writers). Anyway, in that class (ENG 205), taught by Dr. Leroy Searle , various methods of reasoning were explored, including: deductive, inductive, abductive, and heuristic, among others. I seem to recall a rather detailed discussion of Francis Bacon's Novum Organum (1620), and the validity of induction as applied to literary works.

A basic definition of Inductive Reasoning: In logic, the formulation of a conclusion after the observation of an adequate number of particular instances; in rhetoric, the development of an idea or concept that moves from the particular to the general.

It is a simplication, but artistic expression to me does follow from the particular subjectivities of the artist outwards to the generalized perceptions of the readers, observers, or co-participants in the audience experience. That is, it is a move from subject to object, that communicates subject to subject.

This further emphasizes: do your art from who you are ! ;-)

Anyway, as a gross oversimplification my answer to the letter(s) I received about 'How to Write' were as follows:


you asked me about how to write (like me)

the answers are simple but hard to do

1)make time to write

2)write from the heart with passion about something
that is speaking to you

3)if writing fiction let the characters come alive

4) write

5) Handle rejection and keep on going

6) repeat 1-6 as needed

heheheheheh sounds like a recipe? most important is 4!!!

tim kavi



end of entry LOL

Visiting Muse

visiting muse
by Tim Kavi

my tears are like
shed moments
of poetry on a page
and my beating heart
beats right next to yours
as we lie together eye to eye

I can feel your heart beating right next to mine
feel it in my very chest

I think we can be companions in all of life
yet the words will not stop their flowing
my kisses keep coming and going

as each one forms a word
a stanza
a proper fitting
recognition

of all that is
between You and Me.

"Woman's Eyes" (short poem)

"Woman's Eyes"
by Tim Kavi

eyes of the enchantress
others must answer in truth

eyes of a goddess
lit up by love's mercy
kindness and compassion

who can help but be
touched
and moved

to respond in dialogue
with open arms
to say I and Thou!

Poet's Suggestion:  IF you liked this poem, I also penned another special poem about a woman and her pretty eyes-- 'Soft Eyes'-- Click Here to view it.

Dreaming by the Fire (Poem based on a dream from 1988)

"Dreaming by the Fire" (1988)
by Tim Kavi

passionate poets
blown by the wind
old man's vision
reality does bend

into places
you know not
revelealed
like a new truth
in the smoke

everyone was silent
when the
old man
first spoke

circles in the trees
predestined
symmetries
nature's worship
no cruel joke

the patterns are
there
waiting to be
found
if we dare

in the mist
traveling
I beheld
asin a dream

(the Old Man
was in a trance
no one knew
what was meant
as in the fire
winter was about
to be spent)

so we turned
inward
into the collective
dream
among the community
of healers
by the shamanic fire

where I traveled
in the air
across a desert
scene

looking outside
me, down
and above
a sacred place
I felt outside
my body

there was
a temple
with laid stones
in the pathways

where three
medicine men
approached
and did surround

holding forth
their tokens
of healing
in their sacred ground

their hands passed
right through me
into my very being

like phantoms
in the mist
they imparted

their tools
to bring life
and heal the
broken hearted.

Poet's Afterword:

This poem is based on a true dream I had over 20 years ago. I share this special experience in the greatest humility. After the dream and finding a new path in my own life as a mystic, I responded to the call to work as a healer.

I have done that work in a variety of community clinics and hospitals ever since.

Now my words seek through love and restoration to bring peace, love, and healing. I only ask to be used by divine grace to help someone in need, to honor my Native American heritage, and my calling.--T.K.

Power of the Human Kiss

power of the human kiss

Assuredly I say we should never underestimate the power of a human kiss!!

If we kiss we shouldn't always expect a kiss back, but ahhhh..a returned kiss is very powerful I think.

one time I wrote the following poem. A lady read it when it got published. she wrote me afterwards, deeply moved, and said she was a Widow.... it reminded her of the kiss of her dear love now departed. she said she could still feel his kiss...

and when you stop and pause can you feel (even in memory) any mighty kisses in your life?

we start out with the kisses of our mothers (or others who cared for us), then the kisses of a bride might grace our lives, and all along we are kissed by Nature and life...yet human kisses can even transcend time and death!

your kiss
by tim kavi

the absence of your kisses
makes a heart grow more fond
stronger

a new moon
lights the night
I try to make the way

back to your door
my love transcends
the space
and distance
even across time

it finds you again
even if a windy kiss
an embrace
of lovers that are missed

sweet solace
your felt embrace
tells me I have been kissed.

Money Making Opportunities (Poem) with brief Comment

"Money Making Opportunities"
by Tim Kavi

rage
rage against the age
when all the machines
make us a slouch
while
pretending to be happy
credit card
debt
makes us a grouch

lobbies so strong
that we can
no longer afford
medicine's healing song

there's a cave man in the gulch

gentle ones ignored
sitting in brown and red
longing for peace
lines so long
where their money is stored
working till the day before they're dead!

rage
rage
though we sit in quiet still
marching to a drum
of some peaceful man's vigil
we long to see his face again
but he is not there
working man's empty stare
gone to the graveyards where
the great ones rot

there's a cave man in the gulch

so much seriousness
money making deliriousness
stop the presses
I own real estate
stocks and bonds
someone take me serious
clean up my messes
will you?

I can't stop
bleeding money
puking rare bones
passed like kidney stones
they won't let me
it's not funny

there's a laughing man in the gulch

rushing and screaming
shopkeepers and merchants
go scheming
their success
leaves them beaming
as they count
their spoils
who needs war
money is their whore!

sweep the walk
scrub the counters
sweet talk
what for
there's a customer in the store!

there's a laughing man in the gulch

rage
rage
stop this shit
guaranteed unlimited
income is assured
and cemented
just nineteen ninety five
send it to me today
oh happy day

there's a laughing man in the gulch!

poet's brief note:

this poem was written in October of 2007. Well before the economic mess of a year later, and look at this stanza:

so much seriousness
money making deliriousness
stop the presses
I own real estate
stocks and bonds
someone take me serious
clean up my messes
will you?

Now, in light of the mortgage and lending scandal for real estate, this looks almost prophetic? ;-) It also reminds me of my short story American Crow (currently unpublished) also written over a year ago where one of the names of the characters "Ryan Newhouse" is an indictment of the whole real estate thing as a dying corpse, at a time when the media didn't know about it, or report it like they are now. Among the points that this story makes, is an inditement of American capitalism and youth that is being destroyed by an erosion of basic human values such as personal interconnectedness. American capitalism is marked by a black crow like nature seeking, its former greatness that has been compromised by enemies that are more subtle than those the armies are fighting. Among the enemies are blind materialism and a byproduct of overinflated wealth, the laziness of a culture of leisure. --T.K.

Blog Special: Homecoming. A New Poem About Loss in War.

"Homecoming"
by Tim Kavi

in the streets
there was once happpy
gladness
now there are endless
mourning songs
making what's
left to life
seem like
eternal sadness

bleeding wrongs
for what is right?

what songs
are these

but those who come
home from war?
(all wars)

in a land
far away
where treated
like strangers

there is so unwelcome
a rest
as this?

death speaks truth
but I want
the lies of love

I want them
to tell me you
came home to me
that this
is all just
some big mistake

I have only
your memories
as a felt embrace
and an empty bed
where once you
took your place

but let me not
be selfish
and tell you
for sure
I still love
you

and never forget
that you loved
me too

to the very
last breath.

Poet's Afterword:
This poem was previously unpublished. It was very emotional to write. I was consumed with depression and loss. Yes it is about loss in war, but it could also be about a lost love, which is a war sometimes, of another sort. -- T.K.

gentle mother (new poem with Poet's comments)

"gentle mother"
by tim kavi

(a poem for my mother on her 80th birthday)

gentle mother
sings softly
her smiling face
in view

pink babies
look back
gentle mother
grateful for the likes
of you

breezes soft
as rose petals
with garments
warm and blue

as my gentle
mother guides
each day anew

later I watch
graceful dealings
constant revealings
of a love
so true

always life long
we remember
our mothers

for how can we
forget
their comforts
when away
our troubles flew?

oh my gentle
mother
without you
what would I do?

lost hopelessly
in flight
from the nest
but your sweet guidance
is always there,

from the one who
loves me the best!

Poet's comment's

this poem was written live on my mother's 80th birthday. After writing it on her birthday, I then read it aloud to her on her special day. (Now about five weeks ago). My mom has been a very important person in my life. Much of my compassion for others comes from her.

There is a change in person in the middle of this poem and it is intentional. It switches from a third person point of view (babies) to an assertion of self (first person), and how a mother is perceived. It is an intentional shift, because in a sense we assert an independent identity and sense of self as we relate to our mothers and other early caregivers.

You can see that shift in the last few stanzas of the poem which includes terms like 'I" and "me". In psychology, there is a theoiry called object relations theory. Although I cannot discuss the theory itself in a fuller sense, it basically states that the role of the mother (or a nurturing other) is so important to infantile development that the baby's sense of self begins to develop as he or she peers/experiences the mother and begins to see her as another person distinct and seperate from themselves. As the infant develops and this is a loving interaction, the infant feels more secure in their separation from others and begins also to define themselves as a separate person.

In this poem, when I sat down to write I tried to imagine this process in a sense, how it might feel to be a loved baby and then to feel that sense of perceiving a loved and loving mother.

That is why the poem ends the way it does with a sense of self asserted so strongly. There is much more sentiment of appreciation in the poem such as a lifelong sense of feeling cared for as well. -- T.K.

Blog Special: "Immigrant's Journey" (New Previously Unpublished Poem) with Comments by Poet

"Immigrant's Journey"
by Tim Kavi

treacherous journey
nature itself
fought her in elements
as barriers
to her own progress

languages disparate
cultures askew
she embraced
the edge of all of it

the dazzling beauty
saw her
tears in the snow

the sled continued
the dogs pulled
it to the
horizon

where the dawn's
sun
was gracefully appearing

all her disappointments
must melt
in the light

of the upcoming spring
as she advanced
to the newland

of hope
and promise
and love

if that was found
it was all
she could hope for

the founding
the discovering
the happiness

of a new place
called home.

poet's comment:

this poem can be described thus:

answering a poem with a briefer poem

in the painted
landscapes of
consciousness
we are all like this

but to the lovely
immigrant we know the
sure dance
of the sure acceptance
of new identity and consciousness!

I say this:

this poem is really about the journeys of consciousness and human strivings for and achievement of potential and development
life is a journey
love is a journey
many aspects of life are journeys

yet it is also the conscious unfolding of our unconscious aspects
of identity
moving from winter to spring
from night to day
from shadow to light

it is the attainment of that which is hoped for!

this poem is as much about the uncovering of the anima in men and the animus in women as anything else...

by the way, I am touched by my own immigrants who came here from other lands to America. In fact my grandfather's family the 'Newlands' knew what it was like to come to a New Land. My grandma Newland one of the poetic goddesses in my own life taught me much about hope in everyday existence! (hence the term Newland used in the poem has a double meaning (double entendre)--as it shows the two words together "New" and "Land" as 'newland' in the poem this is by design. as this stanza shows:

of the upcoming spring
as she advanced
to the newland


as such this poem is not only a testament to all immigrants, (and immigrants of the soul's journey), but also to my Ancestors and their struggles to come here.

--T.K.

Two New Poems from the Online Poetry Show: (Variations on a Theme of Orpheus and Stone Buddha)

Poet's note: as per my prior blog entry, these two poems were part of the recent online Poetry Show exhibited by my friend and fellow poet, Rory. These were previously unpublished and are considered NEW poems. Enjoy! -- T. K.

Variations on a Theme of Orpheus
by Tim Kavi

moonlit night
foggy breezes
beasts of the wood
melodies of
Orpheus always pleases

across the river
in a dark place
turned away
from Eurydyce's face

tears flow
on this last time
such sad longing
missing the beloved
wife's belonging
by his side
she was
the gentle bride

she is
passioned and gone
he sighs
hopefully in destiny's
dark design

there is a returning

notes rising
to the heavens
as goddesses
take flight
birds uprising

heaven is silent
instructed in woe
descending below
turned away
by the dark foe

Orpheus keeps playing
captured by hope
that his notes
are delaying
destiny's defraying

of his continual
mourning
bringing comfort
to the masses

these are the ways
of the passioned
artist
always comforting
others
from his own place
of veiled
loneliness darkest

playing to the
audience
while Rome burns
or armies
wait in the wings
or his heart
trembles
dance! sing!
jovial things!

filling the air
with notes
sweet ministry

twilight says
night is coming
death the final
post

together finally
with Eurydyce's
now, happy ghost!

This poem is reprinted with permission from my publisher TiLu Press, and also appears in my collection Ascending Goddess. You can read this poem along with many more in that collection by clicking here to purchase the book! Thanks for supporting my work!~~TK

"Stone Buddha"
by Tim Kavi

up on
the narrow
ridge

there is
what was
once
a contested
bridge

enclosed
in stone
fruited plains
in the valley below


a shrine
still sits
where
corpses line the way

the light
still shines
through

follow the path
up to the
light for
it ever shines
bright

blind ones
receive their
sight

when the
fragrance
of the blossoms
meets
the morning
dew

the troubled
ones'
troubles
are few

if they
continue
to the light

broken paths
stones
overturned
such

places
are not
earned
or won

grace's
appearing
is in the
clearing

where the
stone
Buddha
sits.

FREE Online Poetry Show of Tim Kavi

My Myspace friend Rory

has given me the distinct honor this week (Sept. 15 through Sept. 19th) of being a guest blogger at a website called "Rory's Poetry".

You can visit this inspiring site at: Rory's poetry .

Included in my featured work will be new poems, song lyrics, and a collection of some of my other poems.

Please visit this Online Poetry Show of Tim Kavi--and have a great time.

Bookmark the site and check out the other interesting guests and artists that will be blogging there as well from time to time.

Thank you Rory! Thank you my readers!

tim kavi

Blog Special: Friends (New Poem)

"Friends"
by Tim Kavi

when friends
speak
the messages
are always clear

no matter
what or where
ten thousand miles
away from here

something about
my friends
their kind words
are always near

in my heart
they are always
here

I can write
a thousand poems
but no goddess
is a better dear.

poet's note: I wrote this brief ditty today, after I realized upon receiving some nice emails and comments at some of my web sites, that indeed, I do have some very good friends--who care about me and what I have to say. It reminds me that even an existential man is not alone if he has friends, friends who laugh with him at the absurdities, the great joys, and the everyday pleasures and pains of life. --T.K.

Wings of Destiny: New Poem (with brief comment)

this poem is actually optimistic... we fight change and sometimes the scary changes are the most difficult. Nature leads us sometimes to emerge with great beauty. This poem could be about death and dying. The fact that it was written during a week just after the funeral of a relative is inescapable.--T.K.

"Wings of Destiny"
by Tim Kavi

the fear
of things changing
when destiny
brings only the
promise of rearranging

how we fight
brave struggles
not understanding our
internal troubles

until finally
we seem bound
by nature itself

only to push back
the bindings
and discover
that our wormlike
nature
has grown beautiful
wings

memories of our past
selves
keep us bound
to old traditions
that dont allow
flying lessons
for the new air
we breathe

we look to the
cosmos
donward to our
feet
hoping to glimpse
a former
self

oh comfort
of the gray
and dying past
sweet nature

has birthed in us
the future
a butterfly at last!

To A Fellow Writer...

I wrote this to a fellow writer after admiring their work:

"I know this journey. We the emerging heroes strike at words that fly in the air until at last some of them fall like snow or tears onto the canvas of our creations below, finally resting until all who read it can see it, but not know, the pain, the suffering, the blood, that birthed such words into existence! Is it enough that they appreciate it? To a fellow writing hero, I am glad to journey with you...and follow you along the narrow ridge..."

ON: 'About the Nature of my Poetry"

Those of you who know me, know that I do not like to really define what my poetry is about. To me, that is an essential function of the reader as they interact with what has been written. What is most important is what they think about it. Still, there are often important themes in what the artist brings to his or her own work. It comes out of their unique expressions after all. Does that make what they think about it--the correct intrepretation? And, is there any single correct intrepretation? I believe the answer is an emphatic 'No" on both counts.

Still, in my humble opinion, there is one answer that is more correct than almost any other, and that is what the reader thinks; what the reader experiences at the moment of perception or reflection. When it becomes the combined expression, a truly dialogical encounter--is what is striven for.

That is the essential correct intrepretation. So why do I try to explain my work at all? Since artists sometimes have a difficult time explaining or understanding their own work, perhaps I shouldn't even try. Yet sometimes I am misunderstood in my intentions and purpose. After all, the artist's work is an objective manifestation of an inward and subjective process. The artist may not have insight always. Still, other people like to think they know what the subjectivity is--but they are sometimes standing outside of it. (In dialogue they may glimpse it). So they think I am a certain thing or this or that. Those are categories, but I see myself as merely a poet and a mystic. (Hopefully tehse are more correct categories!) For example, I may be writing as much about spiritual love as physical love when I talk about the goddess.

In addition to all of my later training in my various fields and education, I write also from a mystical tradition. These would be my early years as a young man when I was a recognized mystic in a community of like minded believers, which for better or worse, made a stamp on my consciousness. (Also my later years in a different tradition). For me, communion with the transcendent Other is both a physical and spiritual existence. It began there in those early years but evolved in the mystical experience until the concrete became particular and back again as self and non self morphed and changed again and again. And as much as sometimes I sought to quiet the mystical, or to limit it it with rationality, the mystical message and ways of connection are still there and undeniable.

So, for lack of any further analysis, I felt compelled to place the following description upon my poetry pages today. So,for those of you who are interested, and from whatever perspective I am writing from--right now; this is what my poetry means to me--at this historical moment, and from my own unique vision. I need YOU as my dear readers to complete it. I need you to approach it as Other, and see what it means to you. I hope at least, whatever YOU find my poetry to mean, that it will always inspire you to reach higher. That is my only goal. I am all for dispelling ignorance, raising tolerance, for the freedom to be, and for the power of love over hate.
--T.K.

About the Nature of my Poetry:

My poetry celebrates the power of the unbridled feminine goddess in the world. In my poetry I also attempt to express ideas that reflect dialectical and dialogical themes of historical and interpersonal relations as we move beyond personal development (the ego) to the larger collective of social mind in the world.

I hope you like my poems. Many of them admire women (or the importance of femininity), as I believe there is a goddess in every woman. These are the qualities that she has learned about, the messages from her unique culture and history that are positive, and the idealizations that help her become the woman she is always meant to be! (I am not the only one to say this. I have been inspired by books about the goddess by Jean Bolen, my mentor Christine Downing, and Miranda Shaw). Despite this I believe there are powerful messages for men in my poems too, and this may include the appreciation of the anima as a historical force in their own existence, as well as helping them to appreciate all the women in their lives.

On Writers as Readers: A Brief Note of Appreciation for Ken Follett.

On Writers as Readers: A Brief Note of Appreciation for Ken Follett.
by Tim Kavi

You know most writers I know of are avid readers, both in their genres of specialty, and across all kinds of writing.

We do that for a lot of reasons. Although it sounds circular, many of us became writers because we first enjoyed reading good books.

My story is simple. I read at an early age. My oldest brother would often leave his books lying about and I would read them. My parents saw I liked to read and encouraged me to read more. I discovered I could be entertained, and learned all kinds of information. (I read many more books than my brother's, that were for my level).

Of course, reading my brother's advanced books, I discovered there were many words in them I did not know or could not understand. So I began keeping vocabulary notebooks where I wrote down every word I didn't know, looked them up, and copied down it's definition with an example of usage that I completely memorized. (My parents did not know I was doing this, but soon noticed I jabbered in big words).

One could say then that from an early age, I admired a writer's work!

Of course there are many people who like to read that are not writers. They read just to enjoy it. When I started out, I didn't read to become a better writer. However, by the time I was seven years old I announced to my parents I wanted to write as an author. They encouraged this also.

Readers are wonderful and the appreciative ones are those that writers like to write for. This is our audience. Fans too are generally wonderful, if a writer is lucky enough to have them.

Whole fields of literature are supposedly aided by "literary criticism"-- works of alleged scholarship that supposedly help us to understand written works by various authors. Still, to read the work and let it first and foremost speak to us,is one of our most valuable joys as a reader.

However, as writers, we often read, to both be instructed and entertained by our fellow writers. Then occasionally, we are held in awe!

Hopefully this awe is not a prison, but an encouragement for us to simply write more by inspiration. (Imagine if every writer read someone's work and said: 'there you go..it's so good, nothing remains to be written. I might as well give up writing right now!'). I admit I have sometimes thought this, but I keep writing.

I also admit that sometimes we writers are damned envious or jealous because of our reading ! heheheh

Occasionally as I read a fellow writer's published works, I am so appreciative of what I have just read that I feel like I have been struck with something so significant and strong, that it becomes utterly unforgettable.

Such is the case as I have recently been reading Ken Follet's "The Pillars of the Earth". This novel, is assuredly a mammoth undertaking by any standard, but is absolutely remarkable to say the least.

It is also instructive to the point of greatness!

Now, it is not my intent to provide a supposed scholastic reference of literary criticism, but I know it when I read something as a writer that I really like!

So, I am implored to tell you about Follet's significant use of a simile--in a way that I have not seen for quite some time.

According to the website: http://www.saidwhat.co.uk/spoon/similes.php -- A simile is the comparison of two unlike things using the word 'like' or 'as', e.g. an example of a simile would be as big as a bus.

Well, there I was the other day just beginning my read of this wonderful novel, when Follett used a simile that really hammered a passage home!
While describing the characters, he described a priest using the following simile: "He had an alert, dangerous look, like a black cat that could smell the nest of baby mice".*

Wow! When I read stuff like this, I am seriously taken to school as I am reminded that sometimes the act or writing is such an artistic and creative art.

I smiled so big when I read this! I knew exactly what Follett meant, and I learned a lot about the character he was describing.

Not only that, I am damned envious! :-)

Happy reading, whether you are a reader, or a reader and a writer!

* (This is from page. 13 of the Deluxe Edition published in October 2007 by New American Library ISBN: 978-0-451-22524-5).

My Friends and I (A New Poem Dedicated to Friends)

brief poet's comment: There is an intentional shift in the focus and style of this poem, from plural to singular form. It moves from a discussion of friends in general, to a specific discussion of the specific friend to whom it is addressed. Also the notion of distance, does not just refer to friends across cyberspace or from other cultures, but the existential distance than can exist between two unique individuals even when they first encounter one another in perceived otherness.-- T.K.

My Friends and I (A Poem Dedicated to Friends)
by Tim Kavi

We finally reached across the miles
My friends and I
Forever touching in blissful smiles,

The gap and wall between us was imaginary
and is history
for in the feelings that seem contrary,
we defined them in new ways.

Never underestimate the power of a friend
to find a new way of love
and onward to the uttermost end
of our lives we find solace,

in each other's heart.
we are never apart,
this is the love of a good friend.

My Angel's Telling Eyes (Poem)

My Angel's Telling Eyes
by Tim Kavi

When we see your telling eyes,
We glimpse the wonderful soul that is there
Within

O wondrous heavenly creature
Angelic wings brush everywhere
Again

Winged beauty, feathered not,
Mortal men in love below, we do fare
Begin

In earnest we seek thee
To kiss you, our heart made bare
When

Is our love made perfect
In your telling eyes together
love's gentility we share
Then.

None Like YOU (Poem)

None like YOU
by Tim Kavi

when one thinks of a beautiful mosaic
many rivers flowing into one
a melting pot of humanity
where united the race is won

there are many who stand out
like a rainbow
a glistening diamond
a brilliant rare treasure

found in the most sweetly rained on
places
where the grasses grow green
and the mosses make a place for a solemn rest
looking at the sky
on a warm summer night

counting constellations
of earth and heaven
none of these are as beautiful
as you
my dear sweet friend.

Chinese Kiss (poem)

Chinese Kiss
by Tim Kavi

what kiss
is this
that
drew across
her lips
but the love
of China?

her majesty
gentle eyes
reflective sighs
gathers her young
in the daylight

her ascendant kiss
is arising bliss
China rises to the skies
her love
comes from above
and waters the gardens
of the world!

Choices in Time (Poem--Oct. 2007)

Choices in Time
by Tim Kavi

wheels of time
moving so fast
blowing my mind
my past
shines only
like memories
my present
moments pass
like grains
of sand
ticking like a watch
on the old man's compass

identities change
slowly
doors will open
all paths seeming true
which direction to go?
what does one do?

landforms shake
and move
continental drift
canyons cut
riverbeds
forms a rift
across all time

down the glass
the moments
run out
on the ground
spilled
sandy and fine
there is only
terrible purpose
in the mind divine

moving
like a snail
designing
purpose
destiny's shell
is like a jail
searching
for time's
sure release
from nature's
limited hell

transcendent ones
will all
escape
not resigned to mere
fate
free will
charges
destiny's hill
vanquishes all fear

bound
not by any
except one's
own making
nature lies
shaking
at the sure one's
Victory cries

directions not seen
familiar surfaces
unfold in the between
similar purposes
guide joint souls
in surest expression
to stand still
in the light of a sun
while Winter's
shadows fall long

across gaps
in the translucent
consuming
flames of time.

Love is History (New Poem) with Poet's Comments

Since reading any poem in its entirety before commentary or reflection is also a snapshot of intention, one can see that the whole hangs together in an effect as much as the components. Therefore, the format here is the entire poem then each stanza with a brief comment by me.--T.K.

"Love is History"
by Tim Kavi

boisterous voices
sentimental
musings

as time
flowed
across
glacial
plains

history
stood
transfixed
in the
face
of nature's
lessons

it was
and will
exist
until the
next thaw

folly of
humanity
to think
they will
persist

the courage
to be
in uncertainty's
orbital
claw

is not for the
weak
but only after
birth
our choice
to speak

I recall
no less
can't remember
my last life

easily
the muses
shrug
how quick
he forgets!

only
the reposed
visitors
kiss

knowing that
love
is the
eternal code.

poet's comments:

boisterous voices
sentimental
musings

(Basically all of our speech and memories; two aspects of poetry itself. Loud speaking, significant, and even sentiment is present)


as time
flowed
across
glacial
plains

(spoken and witnessed through time, there is a strong geography, that is, even Nature seems majestic, seems timeless, as we assert through speech and live)

history
stood
transfixed
in the
face
of nature's
lessons

(even history itself pauses and views Nature. Is taught by nature itselt, that something even exists apparently beyond history)

it was
and will
exist
until the
next thaw

(yet even that timeless Nature and geography is in a fleeting existence, yes big events can change things that even look permanent; such as here we have a vague reference to Global warming in the face of a mighty glacier, the collapse of an ice age, or think of a sun going nova, or an active volcano. In short, all things are not eternal)

folly of
humanity
to think
they will
persist

(it is silly to think that human life will exist forever, likewise that we individually and species wide have immortality--at least in this plane of existence. where death seems to visit all of us)

the courage
to be
in uncertainty's
orbital
claw

(shades of Tillich here, also the Uncertainty Principle, where even electrons cannot be identified with certainty where they orbit in the shell of an atom. yes it takes courage to exist with certainty when even matter is uncertain. Yet we have no choice we allow ourselves to be)

is not for the
weak
but only after
birth
our choice
to speak

(we did not choose to be born that we know of, and can only even speak about it after we are already here--already born. No choice in the matter. Here I am in this body and cortex, in this world and organism. It takes strength to realize this and live anyway. Existential musings)

I recall
no less
can't remember
my last life

(this seems paradoxical. how can we both recall and not remember our last life? This is quantum existence: to be in both states of a contradiction and still exist. At different points I seem to think I remember, but do I really remember what I was once or knew? Or was I? It is true sometimes I think I recall, sometimes I know I do not recall much if at all)

easily
the muses
shrug
how quick
he forgets!

(even poets and poetry live forever in one form or another. the muses recall because they exist outside of time, and get upset that I can't recall. But really, I am saying that even poetry, like Nature, or a sense of selves--doesn't really live forever)

only
the reposed
visitors
kiss

(well we finally accept it, and love anyway. We decide to kiss (love) because that is what matters, really after all. To love and be loved is the more important permanence)

knowing that
love
is the
eternal code.

(yes, the loves, the kissers know, that it really is love that is eternal, and the code built into everything. It is as truth more than a computer program, but yet underlying everything in our existence. It is the essence of a pure love that precedes ALL).

Blog Special: "Cycles of Freedom" (Previously unpublished poem).

"Cycles of Freedom"
by Tim Kavi

rambling disjointed
sentences
run cascading
tumbling jumbling
into the
joyous mist
of verbal
onslaughts
until finally

the beauty of it
twenty four flavors
of colors
explode into
cosmic bliss

like some 1960s
caricature
of flower
studded
wedding guns
on the campuses
across America

sought meaning
brought seeming
into the
awakening passions
a strong message
of peace
was the fashion

until marching
across
the lawns
up the streets
in the parks
the voices
were so loud
that people
started to tremble

ideas clashing
the world was
smashing
dialectics of newness
were removing
new governments
in power

when
would it unravel
in historical
dismays
the crowd
got lost
in the allays
of larger
sentimentality

until the vapor
seemed
vanished
but really
became part
of all that is

ideas
not banished
freedom
still
marches for
the strong
today

their songs
did not
vanish

they just
seemed
lost somehow
searching
for new
uprisings
breaking out
in a thousand places

too many causes
justice seems
fleeting
but when there is
a final meeting
the right
bloody causes

triumph
in fists
shaken in the face
as taskmasters
that brought
chains everywhere
became
white ghosts

the cycle repeats
history
greets
the next
generation of
reformers.

Beings in Love: On Dialogue and Character Development in Works of Fiction

Blogger's Note:

Recently a friend asked me about character development, where two of their characters were falling in love in a novel being written. The author asked me how to portray this? I responded with a letter, (a bit obtuse at times), but I believe some of the excerpts of the discussion may be useful. Therefore, aspects concerning 'Dialogue and Character Development' have been reposted below.

Basically, my argument assumes: 1) That characters in a a novel may (but not always) follow social norms and rules from the world of real life (this provides a cultural reality for readers, also known as frame of reference); 2) Characters falling in love in a novel can at least sometimes fall in love like real people do (although idelaized fantasical components may also occur); and, 3) that characters in a novel can encounter each other through dialogue in contextual moments that enhances believability (if the author is open to what the characters are 'saying' to each other).

The main point is that characters are not unique and separate from each other as they interact in your novel, they are happening to each other in a very real sense. Can you (as the artist) listen to what their dialogue is saying in the historical context you helped to create as an author?

Also, the blogger asks for a philosophical point of forgiveness, mainly that the philosophy of dialogue requires authenticity in speaking and address which may beg the question if we are dealing with fictional characters. However, (and without undue philosophical explanation) I will say, there is a difference between fictional characters and fictional selves; and if we are writing of two characters in the plane of human existence encountering each other, the philosophy of dialogue may be assumed to be in operation except where the character(s) are shown to be deceitful in the latter sense of misrepresentation that is deliberate and willful ( a fictional self), as no genuine dialogue can happen in such encounters. Yes, such characters will still have dialogue in general, but their stance is not one of truly meeting another character. Keep in mind I am speaking of two types of dialogue here, but both are important in fiction, characters speaking to each order, and the deeper sense, of characters happening to each other in a true personal sense.--T.K.

Excerpt One:

introductory comments:

...I have been thinking a great deal about what you wrote about, it is quite revealing in many ways... very interesting in terms of the writing process itself and your struggles/glimpses into musings about and with character development...

Of course what I write is always interplayed with my strong philosophical and psychological components of my education and experiences.

Your latest blog indicates that you have gotten much of it figured out, in terms of who your hero is. He is a very special guy, but I think a very good mix of ideal and real qualities which is a dialectic that makes us up in our perceptions of self to other persons in reality after all.


Excerpt Two: On a character falling in love and being loving towards others:

...if your hero loves everyone (sort of like a Messianic hero) then we must realize that he loves contextually and dialogically. That it is the concrete situation with a person he is addressing, therefore is it not possible for him to focus his love in the purest sense to that person, if he is truly present with them, and loving them ? (Obviously to some he might have the love of a father, a friend, a mentor, a warrior, or lover). Now, if he takes this sense (of loving purely with his whole heart) with him across all those that he loves, and his love is pure, why shouldn't it be the same in magnitude if love is infinite?

I know it begs the question whether or not any person (character or real) can ever love infinitely in a finite body or situation, or confined to our perceptions of self and time, but you must let me make my point. heheheh

Basically, your hero can be all of these great things you envision based on the many types of love because he has learned to be in the moment with other persons and situations that he meets. If he is focused on the exchange that is taking place in the dramatic action of the moment then he is present with that other character at the moments that you are describing, and as they are speaking to each other. In this sense, he is falling in love with nearly everyone because he loves almost everyone he meets (to some degree)! heheheh. (the author said this was part of his character--T.K.).

Excerpt three: About characters falling in love:

So the real key in writing about the couple falling in love, is I think, to let him love her as the action is happening btween them. This is the true psychology between person and person, in the moment, each perceiving and reponding to the other, with all of its historical demands and uirgency of what is going on NOW. This is the 'meeting' I-Thou that Buber speaks of. The two characters are happening to each other, he responds to her, she responds to him.

It is natural then, as they have dialogue and act in the unfolding story for them to love believably as long as you can write from each one's perspective in the reality of what the conflict and story presents as you are creating it.

I hope I (myself) can learn from what I wrote here so that I can write and show my characters falling in love in a believable manner!

On the Existence of Unicorns

Life is often filled with questions...

If we're lucky some of them get answered in a lifetime. Hopefully most of the important ones get answered when the answers are needed. I'm thankful that they know with some confidence what's wrong with me when I am seeking medical care, for example. (Barring a misdiagnosis and that the treatment is appropriate). And if we try to answer some of the questions on an academic exam with "unanswerable", or "might take a lifetime", it would be wrong.

Different kinds of data demand different kinds of answers. Perhaps I meant to say that different kinds of answers demand different kinds of data. And like they always said there's a difference between open ended questions (questions that ask for more than a yes or no answer or more than specific data) and closed questions.

Then there are deeper existential questions that have to do with our very life. Questions about faith or belief and questions about the nature of reality. There are tough choices that we often face, and ethical dilemmas that require different answers to various questions.

We do the best we can.

Now some of what I am about to say, or some of the questions that follow, might sound strange to those who have never taken an academic course in philosophy, metaphysics, or philosophy of mind. And let me say before you rush down to the registrar's office, taking such courses doesn't automatically predispose anyone to be better equipped to answer life's questions. However such courses might help you to ask different questions, or perhaps change some of the "answers" you come up with. Some of the questions might even be better ones.

This in and of itself is an interesting thing to say, but you know answering life's questions has mostly to do with experiences, individual differences and histories, and the ability to be a good problem solver. Some of this cannot be taught in a college course, but it is taught in the school of "hard knocks" or the perplexing challenges of everyday living that we all must adress at some points in our lives.

I think that you would agree that many people who face tough decisions have never taken a philosophy course.

I am not slamming education or philosophy courses though, there is the simple but maybe hard fact, that education may improve one's critical thinking skills, that dialogue and spirited debate, that asking interesting or thought experiment questions such as one might hear in a philosophy course can improve one's analytical reasoning abilities. Such abilities are important to establish arguments in favor of certain truisms, or to get at better answers after all, aren't they?

Now, with a little tongue in cheek I get to the point of some of those questions that once seemed so strange to me...like those first days in a philosophy course. I remember readily thinking "this is crazy" or simply a deeply felt "what??". I wanted to giggle.

These questions were questions like:

Professor pointing to a chair... "What is this?"

Professor pointing to a table... "What is this?"

Class answered: "Chair" or "Table".

Professor: How do you know?

Answers varied from: "It just is" to "That's what we were taught" to
"Everyone knows what it is unless you're a baby."

Professor (asked again): "How do you know?"

Eventually through the process of dialogue the class comes to some understanding thatthe answer signified by "what we were taught" may be closest to what is real, because it has to do with what we have been taught as a group (or culture) about what the object known as chair or table represents, or should represent. That is, it is a chair or table because we share the referent for that object as being a chair or table, and thus is an assigned meaning.

The professor then usually says: "what if you were told the chair was pig at first?" Would you not belive the object was pig? The implication was that words don't always mean the essence of the things they represent.

Then maybe the professor discussed Platonic forms by telling you that part of the meaning of chair implies that the chair has "chairness" and the table
"tableness".

Finally, I remember plenty of discussions about "explanatory fictions" or assertions as heuristic devices which if we couldn't explain away with any reliability, how could we explain anything that is named in sort of a token identity materialistic perspective?

For example, many people think that green unicorns or unicorns don't really exist. yet they are often referred to in folk knowledge, folk psychology, or folk tales, fables and fairy tales. Could it be that they really exist? Maybe they existed in the past? Maybe I shouldn't be surprised to see one strolling across a meadow someday. Maybe unicorns are somewhere else, but not in our point of reference at the moment? Maybe we have to believe they exist and then they will? (Or is that a delusion?). Who are we to make fun of green unicorns anyway? Or any unicorns? Who are we to say that Martians didn't really switch brains in our bodies while we slept and simply downloaded our previous memories? If that is true, or cannot be disproven, who are we to say it is false?

I remember Dr. Charles Marks, (Philosophy professor University of Washington)his face lighting up during such discussions (although I am sure his words were more elaborate than these)...

So I remember that unicorns dont really exist or haven't in my frame of reference...
at least until now...

;-) .

www.msnbc.msn.com/id/25097986/from/ET/wid/18298287/>1=43001

'Unicorn' deer is found in Italian preserve !!

Is the fact of a genetic variation or "accident" any less evidence of a functional unicorn? ;-)

Dreamy World (Poem) with brief poet's comment

"Dreamy World"
by Tim Kavi

finally leaving
the cave
solitary confinement
all these years

the world
is illusion
of that which truly is
and we take refuge
only in the
stuff of dreams

I'll dream that
I am looking
in your sparkling eyes
so full of life

I'll dream
that we are kissing
on that first night
through happy sighs
we meet

and then
the next day
the beginning is

the story of our life.

Brief Poet's comment: There is a theme here in this poem that is part of much of my work. The juxtaposition is dreams vs. reality? What is real? beyond mere questions of metaphysics, it really hints at the world of representations. Is what is depicted to our senses a valid reality, or is it illusion? Maya perhaps? You can bet most often when I am referring to a cave in any of my writings, I am almost always referring to Plato's Allegory of the Cave where mere reflections of true objects that we see on the wall of the cave are often perhaps what is mistakenly perceived as real. A related major life changing view of interest regarding the possible representational views of reality would be of interest to mention, and that is Hilary Putnam's famous arguments contained in his "brain in a vat" discussions. --T.K.

Blog (Not So) Special: "Writer's Life" by Tim Kavi (A Fishy Poem)

"Writer's Life"
by Tim Kavi

writers often
reflect
in sundry places
of culinary graces

and in between
sup
they are always
scrounging
for another cup

so
From dusty streets
of Xian
where there are two
Starbuck's

to the winds of Beijing
and the metal
walkways of Tokyo's
Narita

munching
on God knows what
even a taco
or pita

I have scrawled
my lines

Or on the
back of the bus
while the
children fuss

or even on
napkins at
some place of rest
or God forbid
toilet paper while
modestly dressed

or in the
Writer's Room
at Portland's
Main Library
where except
for the door
it is quiet
for "shore"

or at some
local
greasy spoon
where the dishes
clatter

where nothing is
remiss
a neat
splatter

as the words flow
constructed
deconstructed
or fall even
flatter

or at home
where the prose
mostly flows
and this writer
always goes

I was quite
amazed
while out
and about

when suddenly
in my cup
there arose
quite the
clatter

so that
I looked
from the page
to see what
was the matter

I saw a
splash like
a fish
in the coffee
there

so when
I looked
I beheld

a giant
roachy fish
taking a swim

where too
much used
sugar
was a wish
for him

but I
kept writing
and soon
forgot it

in my writer's
bliss

and took
to a swallow
and
accidently
consumed
the fellow!

Yes taste
dictates
no such
disclosure

but the
writer's
life
is often
filled
with
tougher things
to swallow!

(than perhaps this
fishy tale!)

the goddess in you

"The Goddess in You"
by Tim Kavi

while singing
the body
electric
the goddess
inside you
shines and shines

like a roaring fire
that quiets the
room
others admire
your beauty

but more
beautiful than
this
is the soul
contained
in your goddess
kiss

so many
admirers
bring you
companions
but those that
love your soul
will not be remiss

in expressing
their devotion
to the godesss

truly inside you.

(I am speechless as I write this. There is a hushed silence, the goddess is all around me..such welcome invitation, and eternal peace---T.K.)

Blog Special: "Every Day" (poem) with brief comment

"Every Day"
by Tim Kavi

every day I kiss you
embrace you
boldy face you

with all
of me
exposed
and vulnerable

you respond
with such
love

that my
tears are
like healing
rain

and my
smiles
like a
thousand suns

I am safe
utterly made
whole again
and again

every day
in your sweet love.

brief poet's comment: this love is certainly contained, (if a matter of experience and participation) in a lived out reality, in the consciousness 'every day'. This NOWness is, after all, our most living reality. Hence, to be loved and to love others every day, is to build and to have filled our existence with love in the most significant and fulfilling sense. Some of the words used in this poem have to do with behaviors associated with such love and its components: kissing, embracing, facing with a boldness, healing, safety, wholeness, and sweetness. The usage of tears and smiling language indicates that a strong love brings one through both sorrowful times and glad times as well.

So Beautiful (poem with brief comment)

"So Beautiful"
by Tim Kavi

Artemis
my goddess
and my love
You are so beautiful
that all of nature

sees you and smiles
trees bend to bow before you
the wind cools you
and the gentle rain
refreshes you

gentle goddess
because you have
walked through the rain
all below
nearly faint
to follow
you to your sacred
hollow

you have eased our pain
healed our sickness
and sang the endless
songs

until gathered
around us
the oldsters
tell your histories
that become myths
to the generations
that follow.

poet's brief comment: Artemis was not chosen by accident, but with deep intentional symbolism for this poem. I will not comment upon why, encouraged readers can research her myth. The most significant aspect of the creation of this poem, is that while I was writing this poem I was in a sort of mystical state of meditation when her name came clearly to my mind and spirit. Or perhaps this was a state of confusion following my recent illness (in which case her healing is welcome).

Blog Special: KISSING YOU (Poem) with Comment

KISSING YOU
by Tim Kavi

with my words
that flow from
the poet's pen

I remember
when

your love
was on
the face
of every
goddess

now
I realize
that the
truest
goddess
is you

poet's comment: YES this is the ultimate worship of goddess, the goddess or feminine form that is nearest. "There" is the goddess that is universal, that informs myths and archetypes, that becomes part of a collective unconscious, or even perhaps of urban legend. This universal goddess is captured by the following parts of this poem:

"I remember
when

your love
was on
the face
of every
goddess"

"remembering when" acknowledges that aspects of this same goddess before you in the local manifestation of goddess existed in some past understood form in the larger sense. That is only an aspect of the local goddess however. (The local goddess always has a historical, cultural , and personal uniqueness). The outer informs the inner in a lived out sense and becomes a true mingling of subject and object. Of course all knowing of other persons is a hoped for subject to subject knowing and not mere subject-object, but in the case of the local goddess (the one we are esteeming in our vicinity and adoring) she becomes at that moment that goddess most important and extraordinaire---

for as the poem concludes:

"now
I realize
that the
truest
goddess
is you"

this is not a pledge of mere loyalty to only that goddess, but as the goddess that is called before me in an act of worship, adoration, and dialogue, she becomes the goddess that I have the most to do with at that historical moment (the 'now"). As such she is the goddess worshipped and adored at that moment in time and history.

In romantic love, this becomes the woman that we are adoring, pleasing, and relating to in our immediate focus of esteem. She becomes the goddess we are relating to, the goddess that we love. This is not an adoration that says the goddess is perfect, but she completely becomes more ideal in the real lived out particular.

In spirirtual love, she becomes the goddess of worship at that moment. "Now" it is possible for a local manifestation of goddess to be embodied in a woman we love in both romantic and spiritual domains.

Existential Essays: "Martin Buber's Dialogical Relation: Introduction to Relating and Loving"

Existential Essays: "Martin Buber's Dialogical Relation: Introduction to Relating and Loving"

Dear readers, I wish that you will find many happinesses, much love, and joy, the rest of your life. May all of your loves be happy ones and may you when the destiny is correct; continue to find lasting loves that affirm you, accept you for who you are, and add joys to your heart!"

Those of you who know my training, background and education, and perhaps some of my academic writings, already know that my mentors and teachers included among them a number of Jungian psychotherapists and healers, philosophers, and existentialists that studied directly with Rollo May, Irwin Yalom, and Martin Buber. (Consequently, some of these teachers lectured and held seminars at the Institute of Dialogical Psychotherapy where I was a student in 1989 and 1990). Some of these teachers were biographers of Buber and spent time with him and embraced his teachings. It is the philosophy of Buber and the example of these persons themselves that made the greatest living examples of acceptance, affirmation, and confirmation that has made a difference in the direction of my own existence.

To me, the steps in relating involve:

1) approaching in genuine dialogue;

2) respecting the uniqueness of the Other person;

3) accepting and affirmation of the other person in all that he or she is;

4)Confirmation of who the Other person is.


These steps lay the foundation for expressions of friendship and love. First, we approach with a genuine nature. This means that we do not misrepresent who we are, nor do we intend to deceive. Honesty is important, if others are to form an authentic and genuine response to us and if they share that value of authentic representation--then a true meeting can occur. I would say that by the very approach of authenticity you as the communicator, helps to create an atmosphere of authenticity where the other person has a proclivity to respond as such. (That does not guarantee that they will be authentic). You can understand that if we do not each approach one another in that way--there can be no understanding of the Other's true uniqueness or their natures.

Does that honesty always mean total self disclosure early in a relationship? No, of course not, but our responses with ourselves and others are basically not meant to mislead--if we are striving to be authentic.

This authentic approach is the ultimate responsibility because that is what any true dialogue requires. A sense of the genuine encounter across all space and time. Buber called this approach the difference between being and seeming. Approaches based on seeming may seem to have more to do with deception, propaganda, or downright lying. In some cases, media or other representations may be based on seeming--that although we understand they are fictional accounts--it is still not the deliberate intending to deceive in a personal relation that I am referring to--and may not be seeming in the strict intrepretation. In such cases, they are fictional representations that are meant to entertain us, and we may even be instructed by them about some truisms.

Secondly, we respect the different qualities of the Other. This is their uniqueness. It means we respect their culture, where they are right now, and all that makes them a person. Do we have to like it all? No. Do we respect it? Yes. Do we disagree with their views--yes, definitely at times. In this respect, I do not try to make the Other person into a copy of myself to be liked by me, nor do I demand that they conform to my expectations about them. Will Others change as a result of our dialogue? Yes. More importantly, will we ourselves also be changed as the result of the outcome of dialogue? Yes. Some call this act--esteeming the Other. Carl Rogers may have called something similar to it as: Unconditional Positive Regard.

Thirdly, once we are aware of the differences of the Other person, then we accept them for who they are. This is deeper than recognition and respect of their otherness. This is like saying 'YES' to who they are and represents a complete acceptance of who they are. While this aids in tolerance it creates an interesting setting where a true meeting can begin.

Interestingly enough, this step of acceptance may involve a process of affirmation as well. Did you ever think that accepting someone in their present moment--might also allow them to see, discover, or release their own self acceptance? You are basically accepting them as a person. As Buber seemed to imply, affirmation is different from pure acceptance, because in affirmation we are stepping closer to confirmation.

The fourth step in the relational stance follows closely after the third (some might say it is a step within acceptance and affirmation, but does seem to follow those acts relationally). Thus, I delineate it here; and that is Confirmation of the Other. That is, an important understanding to our acceptance of the Other person, is that following acceptance, that person might be able to recognize or release their own potentiality? In that respect accepting someone in their present moment, also accepts them in their own potentiality for who they might also become.

My mentor, Maurice Friedman, said: "True confirmation means that I confirm my partner as this existing being even as I oppose him (or her). I legitimize (them) over against me as the one with whom I have to do in real dialogue." And this making present, "...is no empathy or intuitive perception, but a bold swinging into the other which demands the intensest action of one's being, even as does all genuine fantasy; only here the realm of one's act 'is not the all possible' but the particular, real person who steps up to meet one, the person whom one seeks to make present as just so and not otherwise in all his (or her) wholeness, unity, and uniqueness."

Regarding love and the relational stance:

While there may be many problems (epistemological, philsoophical, and lived out) in what I have written here, my main emphasis is that all relating is composed of distancing and relating. In relating if we approach another in an expression of love, utilizing the steps of the relational stance as I have mentioned here, it will greatly aid the expression of love that we are showing them.

If the immediacy of love is enhanced by face to face encounters there is no doubt that such a relational stance can be lived out between two persons face to face. Does this preclude a dialogical encounter in cyberspace? No it does not. Cyberspace is well known for the propensity to enable deception or provide an anonymous mask for the communicators and those that relate through such means--so the temptation is there to behave in ways that some might not if they did not have such a mask, or were encountering each other face to face.

This is problematic--but meeting others socially and expressing love can occur through written means if we are being sincere. Writing down our communications in email and through chat can be misleading even though we do not intend for it to be so. We must take extra responsibility and diligence to be more cautious in our communications there.

I am convinced however, that we can express respect, acceptance, affirmation, confirmation, and even love, in this manner. We can find a loving friend, and support, even on the internet if we are following the basic steps of friendship and perhaps, some of the steps in relating that I have outlined here. It may be that some would argue that true loving friendships will eventually result in the persons meeting face to face and seeing how they are together--and definitely if their love is to take a more socially recognized form such as marriage, I think most of you would agree with this. I think most of you will also agree if we take the relating steps seriously, the internet can help us decide if a person we meet thus, is someone we would want to meet and encounter face to face!

Pure loving moves the dialogical approach into another deeper realm, that I shall discuss in more detailed entries later. Some of Buber's biographers have pointed out that this was most influenced by Buber's own relationship with his wife, Paula, and how she was so important to him and his life.

o goddess in You and Me (with Poet Comments)

o goddess in You and Me.
by Tim Kavi

o goddess
lingering there
between us
wings of silver
glistening hair

swimming
in eternal places
your forms
instruct all
spiritual places

then when
we behold
reality's
unfold
destiny's then

seen as your
eternal graces

golden shimmering
jewels dot
landscapes
fair heart
eyes leading
to romantic
escapes

we linger
in the light
looking
for certainty's
sure sight

in a plane with
mathematician's
delight
the waves
collapse
in quantum night

where, o where
is the goddess
still
transcendent
of my
human will?

subject
object
perceptual guises
earthy woes
all fade
in her disguises

breezes blowing
across
all time
statues showing
the goddess
divine

does she
emerge still?

why
beyond ourselves
is anything real?
independent
yet
capable of feel?

there is only
the transcendent other
you and I
I and Thou
all mind is free
in the now

in the love
of you and me.

Comments: This poem captures many of the themes of all of my writings. The dialogical relation of I and Thou; the impact of the goddess in the world (in men and women); the redeeming powers of romantic love; the qualities of transcendent mind or what I call mind in the world. This poem will b epublishe din my forthcoming collection: To the Emerging Goddess by Tim Kavi

Blog Special: Poems that End with a Bad Pun #1 of 679

poet's comment: Thank goddess this isn't published anywhere else...

"The End"
by Tim Kavi

Thinking
I was
born yesterday

she played
me like
a violin

while Rome
burned
and all
our dreams
of paradise

faded into
blackness
oblivion
and history

there
was nothing
left
except to
watch it burn

and roast
hot dogs

in the smoke
Nero said:
beware
the relationships
you relish.

My Grandma the Poet (A Memoir)

a true story from my hometown life:

I grew up in a small town and loved grandma and visited her house
I stayed there lots of weekends
even until my late teens

she made homemade candy
and treats, good homecooked meals
and the holidays everyone in the family came there

aunts and uncles and lot sof cousins
there weren't any boy cousins
although I had two brothers
(they were much older than I)
I made mudpies with my girl cousins
who giggled incessantly
and told me how to cook
fine pies in the mud

grandma tended to her kids
but when she got older she worked a little...

grandma was the town "cookie" cooking burgers that all the teens loved at the soda five and ten

you know the malt shops with soda jerks? in the 1950s...

post war bums with some slicked back hair and cars with big fins

susie was over in the corner
eatin' grandma's burgers

grandma was behind the counter and she grins

watchin the drama unfold
susie ignored the man's advances
and all the other cooks
cackled

susie was a real good looker

I had a burger there in the Soda Fountain place in the late 70S before they tore down the place
the same owner was there but he was Cookie now, and grandma was living in the twilight of her life. the place was empty, but the food was still good and you could get a lot for your money all the noise was down the street at some fast food place. There wasnt even a battle of the bands no more. The owner worked there with his son who never had another job and stayed with his daddy till the end even though he was all grown

I went to grandma's house for a visit soon
after seeing her old working place

grandma was rockin
in her rocking chair
writing poems and crocheting and watching Portland wrestling

when she gave advice you listened

I never forgot her
her love was the most patient teacher

any grandson could have
and I often told her I loved her so

from as far back as I remember..
I have memories like this:

grandma would say Timmie
and was happy to see some of my first poems
scrawled in crayon
or pencil
so grandma and me would write at the same time when I was little and she was so big in my little eyes


her gentle ways taught me more about the
goddess than just about anbody
I know

I think grandma was a goddess

she would write poems by the hours
on sheets of typing and notebook paper college ruled
and writing tablets

all handwritten in very large letters

I was high enough to peek over the arm of the chair to watch what she was doing

if I was good and asked real nice
grandma would read me some
out loud

she had a way with words

these were lyrics and fine ballads

born in 1900 on a homestead she was a country girl
grandpa was a sharecropper
they seemed poor
but rich in so many ways

but we were so happy

grandma liked reading romance magazines
in that rocking chair
songs of home, heart, romance

and her and grandpa were married for more than 50 years

you know grandma taught me
a lot

and every once in awhile
when I write a poem now
I think grandma sees it

I hold it up to her just like I used to and you know what?

she grins

and that still makes me pretty damned happy.

here's an excerpt from one of
grandma's poems:

Tomorrow's End

My wonderful kids
How I love you so
I must know if there is a place
For me, or a home to go.

I won't need many extras
Just a bed at nite
A place to love my grandchildren
And my poetry to write.

Could I have a chair by a window
With the sun shining in
That would make me so happy
As my eyes grow dim.

I'd be all settled in comfort
Shielded from the cold
What a glorious feeling to know
Then I am growing old...


author's note: grandmothers can be terribly important. as you can tell, mine was extremely important to me. the poet "gene" certainly runs in my family...my grandma, my mother, and both my daughters write prose that inspires and moves me across all time.