Respite In A Church

Thonatos, I think, struggled with or at least found the subject of faith interesting enough to ponder and write about. There are many pages where Po scribbles out this or that thought about God as the idea of, in particular, the Christian God is taught. This leads me to believe Thonatos had been reared with some religious influence. Perhaps a strong one. The fact that even as a child Po did not wholly accept religious teaching, and in fact did not seem to believe what was taught, demonstrates at least what was probably a very precocious child. In a strongly religious household, this tendency rarely is tolerated well by parents or family who accept certain beliefs to be true.

Given that, I think this probably forced Thonatos to develop an even deeper interior life than he or she might've normally had, even with a proclivity for expression through writing. In this respect, writing might have also served as a childhood survival tool. But this also may mean that Po felt an increasing lack of acceptance and may have over time learned to detach from the family. Thonatos would be the 'black sheep' in such a situation and probably resulted in some insecurity or worry or mistrust of people at times. I am generalizing of course. My speciality is not psychology.

Here is an excerpt from a visit to some church and this visit, like many other paths Po took, seems to be a catalyst for exploring not just what others believe, but what Po might have believed.

“the church in the middle of the town was empty in the mid-afternoon and i went inside for a respite from the heat.

the closest thing i have found to an evidence of any god is in human beings. and that does not prove the existence of a god, but rather that when human beings love beyond themselves and beyond their own needs in deference to another’s, it just shows that our good can be very good.

it’s receiprocity though and i probably sound like a cynic when i say that. if i treat you well, and you treat me well in return, we can live next to each other or with each other without harming each other. reciprocity for the common good. many animals we see ourselves as superior to, do this as well.

sitting in the church and staring up at the crucifix i find myself confused. don’t they believe jesus was resurrected? if he was, why do they insist on keeping him on the cross? religion is just good fiction really.

sometimes i think our lives just consist of a fight against tedium and boredom before death comes. just filling our lives with business and various interests to distract ourselves from the inevitable.

churches make me a little morbid.

if there’s no heaven when we die, will that be so bad? this is our lives, now, and that’s not so terrible is it? where is the god of these people who toil in the hot sun, bury their children from sickness, and age far too quickly? why do they attribute good to him, and not bad as well?

i tried confession once as a child but my claustrophobia got the better of me. when the priest told me to confess i told him i’d never sinned. then i asked him to confess his sins to me. he told me to get out.

i can’t even figure out what a sin is to this day. who decides what is sin and what isn’t? another person? and what makes that person so special? some other person saying they are? i have never been able to reconcile the idea of a god that would knowingly create a hell for one human soul and the same god referred to as ‘father’. what sort of an abomination of a father would, no matter his child’s stupidity, force them to suffer neverending torment? if there’s a wickedness, a cruelty, a spite and shallowness...it’s in that idea. that persona.

still, i like the quiet of the church. the earth tones and soft glow of the candles, the pretty stained glass that twists the colors of the sun into rainbows. i like the idea that people who can’t afford psychiatrists or drinking binges, have someplace that gives them a little relief from the turmoil of their often very difficult lives.

I liked hearing fairy tales as a child too. i knew they weren’t real but it didn’t matter. the idea is what counted. the idea of fairies and wizards and knights and dragons and leprechauns made me happy. and happiness can be so hard to find, for anyone.”

Thonatos On A Party

More of Po's notes:

“stuck with the cavier crowd last night. perilous invitations and obligations. not formally imposed but conceded to anyway.

the wealthy foolishly believe that by mere accumluation of money and posessions that somehow they also accumulate intelligence and creativity over the less fortunant. people talk about the deceitful nature of riches and this is one concrete example of it.

they bore me. they bore each other. there’s not enough champagne or fine wine in the world to numb them to this fact. drifting out on the veranda, eavesdropping, the laughter tinkles like cheap crystal, the smirks and winks reveal an inner ugliness so profane i find myself only ever wishing to retreat.

and the feigned interest in my craft by dusty old souls creaking and cracking in the disease of their hypocrisies, the condescending tones of the psuedo-intellectuals, as they fire questions at me about what poetry “means” or “why do we do it?”

“We?”. Well, I am occasionally assaulted by someone’s writings. tonite some knew i’d be attending and brought this or that peice of writing with them to get my opinion. i feel like a complaint box, just sitting there and having words dropped into to me. words the owners don’t really care about and forget as soon as they walk away.

why are the very rich so desperatly insecure? they never have enough and enough is never good enough. they are constantly competing with each other, even though there is always and always will be someone richer or poorer than themselves. do they think death will be kinder to them? i’m tired of thinking about it. they are often so wholly without personal merit, so uninteresting and banal and corrupted on some level that isn’t even exciting. so many of them yammer on about ethics and society and manners and morals, all the while flirting with each others husbands and wives or whispering and laughing with a wink and a nod about some pool boy had or some street waif exploited.

all the apparant beauty. the decor, the catering, the live musicians and intricately planned guest list. Yet underneath it all are dry bones and mold and slime. it’s frightening.

i truly feel these things and i truly should stop going to parties. the hardest part about being human, for me, is the occasional need to be near other humans.”

********************************************************************** Who did Thonatos know that threw such parties? Was Po close to this person, or was it a meeting of happenstance? Was this some wealthy patron who had read or heard of Po’s work and wanted a fresh face on their guest list, and an inspired poet at that? So often there lies underneath the surface of Po’s notes a hint of an immensely complex life or thought process, a life experience with a multitude of influences and I do not have the genius of Sherlock Holmes. I’m not sure there are enough clues left behind for even he to deconstruct the life of Thonatos.

In any event, Po’s feelings and inner turmoil over the excesses of the wealthy and the manner in which they are expressed clearly are an irritant to Thonatos. There is some indication that he or she barely tolerated such environs and I imagine Po imposing a civil manner on him or herself in all of this company while also planning an acceptable time to escape it. In other notes about this or that event, it is clear to me that Thonatos was not impressed by the superficial and, given the poetic nature, this is not surprising. It is the nature of the poet to express the obvious and the hidden to the best of their ability. It’s an artistic reflex, a creative compulsion and there are times that Po almost seems tortured by this fact. The objectivity needed and the often deeply sensitive nature of the poet drives them into seclusion over and over and this swinging back and forth between a need for solitude and a need for company is not well tolerated by many people. And probably why so many artists succumb to depression or try to escape the severe fluctuations in moods through substance abuse.

But Thonatos despised cliche’s of any kind, especially when they proved to be true, and the drunkard’s or junkie’s tendencies do not surface in Po’s works. Sometimes I sense an immense tension in Thonatos’ poetry and worry that my grandson’s suspicion that Po perhaps snapped somehow under that tension, once and for all, may be true. But if I believed that, I am not sure I could continue this project. Part of me needs to believe Thonatos is alive and will, perhaps, someday read these words.

Although, I sometimes imagine Po sitting on a mountain somewhere, scribbling into a notebook and paying no heed to the world’s agendas.

Thonatos: Some Short Poems

Here are some of Po’s very short, comparitively, writings. Po writes in this journal, on the inside flap: “Sometimes I just like to try to say something in as few sentences as possible. not an attempt to mimic haiku on any level. I don’t particularly like most haiku. The great stuff is great. The rest is just too...I don’t know...it makes me feel as if I’m trying to chase sand blowing in the wind.

Montpellier. June’s coming fast. need pens.”

That last bit my be some travel reminder of Po to him or herself as some references to the French countryside are made in some poems, though Montpellier is a large college town. Again, so much of this is pure speculation on my part. Thonatos leaves scant personal details and I cannot emphasize that enough.

************************************** here’s the sale of ultrahip slam some smack and bite your lip pierce the skin you’re flawed and ultrahip (* Po has a scribble in another journal that says,”god damned junkies ripped me off. again! kept some money in my sock and good thing i did.”. Maybe this tiny poem is a jab back at them. )

************************************* timeless spineless sinister testaments hot death stale breath skeletal government beat down fallow ground iron taste wealth and waste hard shove good love in spite of timeless spineless sinister testaments...

(* This is actually written in a circular pattern, as if Po meant for it to loop back around infinently or as into a whirlpool. There is no way for me to duplicate this on a keyboard, so at a later date I may use my scanner to import the poem’s physical image. It’s really quite unique among Po’s other works and not repeated again. * )

**************************************** finally snapped in love with life see you under the waves tonite.

(*This is what my grandson feels is an indication of a potentially suicidal Thonatos. I do not think so. It could be about a surfing or diving accident for all we know. *)

***************************************** he opens the door beckons me through his passion and fire split me in two; one wants to go one wants to stay and both are willing to die today.

***************************** primate behavior would they still care if they knew your disease or would they scatter and climb the trees?

*********************** Thonatos, you wound me It’s ok if you don’t believe or think my plans are ill concieved i may not win the prize and perhaps for my trying i’m a fool in your eyes but if i take the gold ( and win ) i’ll give it to you to show i forgive.

(*Po’s note: "A freind told over coffee today he’s going to compete in the olympics. I laughed because he’s never finished anything since i’ve known him. This poem reflects the look in his eyes when I laughed. I can't believe it, but I guess he expected a more empathetic response from me.*)

******************************* you see the samaruai in my eye the lover in my heart so shift yourself out of neutral and push it in to start.

(* Some of Thonatos’ romantic works do teeter on the line between subtle expressions of passion and direct eroticism. However, I have found no apparant attempt on Po’s part to be vulgar or gross for its own sake. * )

I will probably post these on the bubblingbrain blog as well. By the way, the title of that blog comes from the title of the first poem of Thonatos' on that site.

Thonatos, reflecting on childhood

Following is a rare glimpse into Thonatos' life as a child. Po seems to be merely trying to recall the first poem he/she wrote, but I believe something much deeper is at work. Notice how the writer makes no attempt to capitalize, but does make an attempt to maintain some grammatical correctness. This is a curious habit of Thonatos', and I am still debating with myself what it might mean or reflect about the writer.

Thonatos ends these notations in what is clearly an example of self-effacing humor.

“at the park. all the kids made me wonder to myself, which of them is a poet, a writer, an artist? then i wondered if i wrote as a child. of course i had. but who goes about thinking of childhood accomplishments every day, especialy as an adult? we don’t think of kids every accomplishing anything more than survival.

First poem: six years old. ‘The Magic Bubble’. I lost it, or it was lost for me by someone else, probably a relative of some sort. but i don’t mean to indite anyone.

a child’s mind then and a child’s mind now, to a degree. writing poetry, even the stark stuff, even the hard realities of some people’s lives or difficult circumstances, still reads better somehow if the writer retains some degree of innocence. Romantic poets always did. love is painful but we keep reaching our hands out searching for it, like children smiling at strangers or laughing at squirrels.

the magic bubble, i think, was an indicator that my nieve stance as a child had left me though the innocence remained. the myth making and make believe.

i wrote of a little king, who on a walk through his gardens - and kings always have big gardens - was absorbed into a large magic bubble. he became king early in his life, and for his protection and stability of the country, he had not been allowed to see into all cornors of the land he ruled.

inside the magic bubble, he was carried over this land and the poem was by and large a description of his delight in all of it. in other words, inside the bubble the grown king reconnected with the child he once was while also reinforcing his adult responsibilites and position.

that’s the best I can recall it.

i think my next significant poem was at the age of 12. i often went to the beach and instead of building sand castles would stare out into the horizon. i was worried i might miss something strange or epic happening if i didn’t. i would watch the sailboats and wonder who the people were, why were they sailing, what did they look like. this spurred me to write ‘the crystal ship’ and it was about an old style of sailboat that could sail through the skies and, of course, was made of a light blue crystal. i can’t really remember the rest of that.

i wrote furiously from the moment i knew i could. i carried a notebook with me in my back pocket where other children carried bubble gum or baseball cards. i think it was then that i realized that conformity made sense. no one wants to be disliked and even less so when they are children. conforming nearly guarantees the chance you can sail through all of the socializing under the radar of the untalented, who are always bullies working out their jealousies.

but i had no one to explain the wisdom of conformity to me, so i suffered much. eventually, i learned to fight back but not for a long time.

i know this is why i have such a soft spot for the underdogs of any society, for the accused, for the heartbroken and disenfranchised. the majority do not need a voice in the wilderness. they have each other.

wish i had bothered to keep track of my childhood writings better, just to see where i've come from and hopefully to see if i've gotten any better.”

Unless the word is spelled so miscorrectly the meaning of the context would be more difficult for readers here, I go against my own instincts and refrain from spell checking Thonatos' original words in any way.

Once there was a Red Frog

Initially, a few years back, I used the interntet to attempt to dig up any info on Po Thonatos that I could. Sadly, there was very little. But, very briefly and once upon a time, there existed an online poetry database of sorts called RedFrog. An immense amount of work must've had to occur for this website to be everything it seemed to be, though I did only scan it. The webmaster had an alphabetical link listing of nearly every poet ever published, both well known and not. In that list, was Po Thonatos. Unfortunantly, almost as soon as I had discovered this site, it disappeared without a trace or further reference. Stupidly, I had thought I would be able to return to it at any time and very unfortunantly, was not able to read nor copy the works of Thonatos that the site listed. I kick myself over my assumption and apathy to this day. I did, however, and still do use the power of search engines to help analyze some of Thonatos' references in the writings. For instance, Po uses the word 'Tonoa' in one work. 'Tonoa' as it happens, is a small district on an island in the South Pacific. I will expand on this further another time. It is spring break and while my students are undoubtedly having quite a good time, and they should, I am catching up on some of my work at school and must return to it for now.

Formatting Problems

My sincerest apologies for the abysmal sentence formatting that occurs in my posts. It is deeply frustrating to me and as I am in no way a computer 'geek' nor master of HTML, I simply do not know what to do about it at this point. Once I figure it out, if I ever do, you can be sure I will correct it. I find its appearance terribly ugly and distracting, so for those reading along, you have my sincerest apologies and I hope only that you will bear with me.

Example of Po Thonatos on 'Rhyming'

Pasted below is part of Po's thoughts on this subject. I have not included all of it as their are several pages regarding this topic and they are scattered in between journals. This is an excerpt in its entirety from just one of them: On rhyming: "It is absurd to me that some of my peers today go about insisting and head nodding to each other that the use of ryhme is some sign of a poet’s creative weakness. Some example of infirmity. The written structure of rhyme, however it is used, is almost always as immediately effective as music. The reader is capable, at a very primal level, to pick up ‘the beat’ as it were, to percieve a cadence of thought. This can be as complex or as simple as one wishes to use it, if only the objectives of self-expression and clear communication of that expression, can be achieved. Ryhming, and sucessful use of it, is not in any way a simple task. you must still illuminate to a degree, your vision. Weak ryhming will often bury this if the writer allows ryhme to make them too lazy to make full use of their current vocabularly. And an expansion of one’s vocabulary should be a pursuit for any poet or writer who ever hopes to convey to their readers the images or feelings in their minds. What good does it do someone, who is perhaps naturally talented ( though few are - most of this is actual work ), but who is not capable through the use of their language and the full exploitation of it to express this talent? Very,very rarely can it be. Ryhming is not a simple matter of picking ‘hat’ to ryhme with ‘cat’ unless of course ‘cat’ and ‘hat’ have some purpose together in the context of the poem. And the use of rhyme can be as creatively used as one can devise a way to use it. Ryhming does not come easily to me. in trying to tie a story or idea together, those things can in fact be led astray by it. So i actually do work and actualy do consciously think of and pay attention to my use of it. there have been times when it has proven disasterous, and i will abandon the work altogether or if the idea is such a compulsion i will use some other way to express it. I do think it is important to a degree that creative writers do not bog themselves down in to many academic rules, nor write to the literati or critic’s tastes. If there is a weakness one may have, that last one is it."

The opening statement gives some indication that Po must have occasionally drifted into or by some poetic community. Which one and where, I cannot tell at this point. Although Thonatos speaks with conviction on the matter, there is some obvious concession happening. He or she seems particularly averse, if the other annotations are any indication, to being corralled into any kind of standard or accepted rules. This may be a reflection of the type of life Po lived, rather than a sincere disrespect or disdain for the 'literati' or creative history. If Po lived a Bohemian or unconventional style of life, which certainly tends to be most attractive to those with a nonconformist nature, then any attempt to impose structured thinking on the subject of art would almost always be met with contempt. Or perhaps Po was simply not impressed enough nor felt enough need to adhere to classical styles of writing. It is not insignificant that Po's use of grammatical precepts such as capitalization are unique to him or herself. In some peices, Po writes in structured ways and in others, any kind of structure is difficult to find. There is some indication by Po in other thoughts on writing that this may have served no other purpose than to entertain the writer alone.

Time Line

It is important to note, for historical accuracy, that while this online journal is a recent and new effort in my discovery process, it most certainly does NOT reflect the actual timeline of my research on Po Thonatos. I am copying and pasting, as I find the time, the many notes and references I have made through the last few years that give account to my efforts. So, the dates and times listed here may be confusing to anyone trying to tie this together with me. Please bear this in mind as it is not irrelevant.

Deciphering Po Thonatos

First, allow me to make it as clear as possible that it is a dangerous thing to assume that the writer and the writings are the same across the board. Very observant writers are able to convey the reality of someone else's life and often will do so in the first person. There is a saying: "Don't confuse the song with the singer." This may or may not be true of Po. I think it's a little of both and I put this forth only based on my own analysis that some of Po's poetry reveals an intimacy and insight that almost certainly are based on first hand experience. If not, then this writer is far more talented than I could ever have imagined.

Second, Po Thonatos was incredibly prolific during the time of the writings I have. It may take me several years to post all of Po's writings, because this person did not just use poetry but also used short story and then what appear to be personal deliberations on the subjects of ryhme, meter, subject matter in creative writing, and also topics outside of these things such as personal life philosophy, ethics both individually and as a society, and personal relationships.

I am gathering, and a few close friends of mine, peers actually, tend to agree that the best estimate of Po's birthdate is somewhere in the late seventies or eighties. This is not, however, written in stone. It is based on certain references Po makes about the world at large in various writings. Thonatos very rarely dated any of his or her works and even the ones that have been, do not necessarily prove Po's actual age.

Some of the journals have scribbled notes written on the edges of paper next to this or that poem, or directly underneath it. Generally, they are a brief recounting of what inspired the piece. This sort of annotation sheds some light, but again, only eludes to the actual facts, not proves them.

Po seems to have been very well traveled and incredibly observant during these travels. In any of Po's writings, there is very little biographical revelation going on. Few references to self, in other words, so while this person writes as one who is very well educated, I don't know that. There is no mention of relatives or native country. I find this aspect particularly intriguing as so many artists, good or bad, do tend to go on about themselves given the chance. Even the ones that feign humility can have their truer desires revealed by a few well worded questions. So Po's absolute and apparantly purposeful effort to leave very little personal information behind only adds more mystery to the mystery.

There is some speculation by my peers that Po perhaps wrote strictly anonymously, and that the name is absolutely and beyond question, mere fiction. The reason for this is both 'Po' and 'Thonatos' are Greek words meaning nearly the exact same thing: ghost or demon. And, there are hints of some affiliation to Ireland or the Irish in some of the works. As for the actual need for anonymity, some speculate that Po is a famous celebrity already in some career field. Perhaps an already well known author or politician and one fellow speculated that Thonatos might actually be a 'spook' ( undercover agent ). He based this on the use of the Greek words Po and Thonatos. I think that is stretching things a bit, but at this point, anything is certainly possible.

Sadly, the worst case speculation is that Po Thonatos is dead. Perhaps he or she had every intention of becoming a published writer, and met some ill fate. One of my freinds, and my grandson included, believe one of Po's poems is beyond any doubt a suicide note or plan of such action. I am not so easily convinced.

It is almost impossible, also, to determine Po's gender. Even more difficult are such matters of sexual orientation, though I am not implying that knowing this is in any way necessary to appreciate a writer, as Thonatos' use of romantic themes - love, desire, lust - reflect both feminine and masculine qualities. Some of Po's philosophical ponderings hint at a possible lack of strict orientation, but perhaps he or she is or was simply liberally minded in social contexts.

My first order of business in setting up Po's works for release on the world wide web, was to order and post only the poetry. I have been doing that for two years now actually and still preparing it. And now steps in my grandson. Happily, he shares his grandfathers' passion for creative writing and upon my return from reading all of Po's works by myself, I shared Po's writing with him in bits over time as I saw him. Through a friend of a freind of a freind, and after much arm twisting of me, he has put up a hyperlink already to Po's poetry through what he amusingly calls ' logistical indirection'. More on that some other time as I am getting tired.

I will, for the sake of conciseness, break down my thoughts on Po's work into various categories such as 'Poetry', 'Meter', Rhyming, and also Po's 'Short Stories' and 'Philosophical Musings'.

My Profile

My name is Richard Langtree. This is untrue actually. My real name I have chosen to disguise as a nod to my most recently discovered and favorite poet, Po Thonatos. I am a professor of midevil literature and poetry at an esteemed university. My anonymity is both for my own entertainment and to avoid the sometimes ambitious nature of my peers. I discoverd Po Thonatos, not by academic research but rather while with a friend at an estate auction. There were several boxes, sealed and whose contents were not revealed to the bidders, that I thought reasonably enough priced to take a chance on. This is my kind of gambling. While I had hoped, I must confess, that the contents would reveal many valuable antiques, what I actually discovered were quite literally hundreds and hundreds of old, worn journals. Some, I later discovered, were filled with incredibly short stories. Others, poetry and still a few others, though not nearly as many, commentary on the subject of poetry itself. I was intrigued. I took two weeks vacation at a log cabin in the mountains of the southeast region and determined to spend my solitude and time reading and analyzing this person's work. It was, to my delight, an astounding and exciting exploration, somewhat, into the mind and heart of a complete stranger. I am just now, after several years, able to write about my own findings but more importantly, illuminate the works of Po Thonatos for anyone who may stop by to read this. I believe this poets work is important and admit this is perhaps my own bias. If for no other reason than to leave Po's fingerprints, as it were, on the digital domain that now seems to have gained a certain kind of immortality, I do this. Most of what I am doing is copying and pasting previous research or painstaking efforts to decipher and translate Po's writing I have made into my word processor. I am quite old now, unfortunantly, and soon to retire. I do have plans on attempting to submit Po's work for publication. Legally, this may present a problem but if all it serves to accomplish is bring Po to me by some purposeful contact on his or her part, it will be worth the risk of a lawsuit. I would quickly opt out of such a procedure though and instead attempt to convince Po that these works deserve recognition by someone other than a dusty old professor.