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Contra Computerdom
I hold this fountain pen with thumb and fingers,
burgundy barrel, gold and rhodium nib,
Montblanc white-sea-star floating on its cap.
German, this instrument, successor to
the stylus trimmed from common river reeds,
Sumerians marking wedge-shaped cuneiform
on tablets fired from Tigris potash clay;
the Roman calamus, evangelists
proclaiming Christ’s beatitudes on parchment;
the feathered quill, employed by genius poets,
in fireplace-heated attics, meditating.
Genesis of our species’ zeal for writing:
God’s hand disclosing Torah laws to Moses,
letters of black fire etched upon white fire.
Alas, today our texts consist of fragments,
reside in bytes, in some confounding “cloud.”
Full-tilt, we type out witless words on keyboards;
post non-sense to the fleeting blog-o-sphere.
Now, AI algorithms generate
whole essays pieced from random routine phrases.
I lodge my protest. Listen to my plea.
Our language springs from immaterial realms,
implanted in our souls by our Creator.
God’s thoughts suffuse my mind in gentle gyres,
caress my heart, then spiral down my arm,
my fingers resting, poised to shape ideas.
I write in cursive script, with costly ink
fashioned to glide on premium Rhodia paper.
This protocol refines my middling words,
enables me to craft praiseworthy poems.
Fine poetry resides in heaven’s realm,
reflects the logos of Parmenides,
the lyre of Homer: forged from fire and wind,
then nurtured in a vasty sea-star womb,
that still small voice conversing with Elijah.
Listen! We have the tools to mollify
the disaffected Muses fleeing from
hi-tech. Toss out your mesmerizing keyboards,
attached to soulless screens and flashing cursors.
Take up your pens. Compose resplendent verses!
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Mary Jane Myers resides in Springfield, Illinois. She is a retired JD/CPA tax specialist. Her debut short story collection Curious Affairs was published by Paul Dry Books in 2018.
These lines are just fun:
“burgundy barrel, gold and rhodium nib,
Montblanc white-sea-star floating on its cap.”
Regarding these lines:
“God’s thoughts suffuse my mind in gentle gyres,
caress my heart, then spiral down my arm,
my fingers resting, poised to shape ideas.” –
I can’t help thinking that you’re writing a reversal of Yeats’ lines in “The Second Coming”:
“Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;”
If that was intentional – then kudos! And if not, then, to paraphrase Robert Frost – kudos still for channeling greatness 🙂
Regarding the closing of your poem – if not for our screens, there’s a good chance most of us would never get to read this poem! Life’s little ironies.
Thank you Jeremiah for your close reading of my poem. I do love that Yeats-word “gyre” and probably use it over-much (it might have the status now of a “banned cliche word” –like, say, that Hopkins word “dappled”?!) It is an irony of ironies, isn’t it? The internet truly is a “force for good.” No longer do we poets languish in our quiet corners wishing we had someone to talk to!
Most sincerely
Mary Jane
I’m glad someone is still using a fountain pen. And a burgundy Montblanc — wow!
Dear Joseph
I have a whole collection of fountain pens. And most of my “mad money” is spent on bottles of ink!
Most sincerely
Mary Jane
Ink of fountain pen on fine paper elevates the mind, as you write in “This protocol refines my middling words/ Enables me to craft praiseworthy poems.” Precisely! Thank you for this inspiring poem.
Thank you so much, Mary. I’m glad my poem comes across as “inspiring” rather than in some irritating way as “didactic”!
Most sincerely
Mary Jane
An impressive poem, Mary Jane. It’s a blessing you are doing what you advise.
Dear jd
Thank you for your kind comment. I’m a “pen addict” I’m afraid. I may need 12-step program! (just kidding).
Most sincerely
Mary Jane
Mary Jane, this gorgeous poem is so high in style it might be called an ode to writing, but I think you correctly identify the lyric genre as complaint. With the Latin “Contra” starting off the title, you produce a beautiful contrast to current modes of text-making. I’m happy to let you know I write my poems with a pen in a notebook chosen for its distinct style differing from previous notebooks. Although your work must go through computerdom to appear on my screen, I thank you for entrusting these verses both strong and lovely to our Society of Classical Poets.
Margaret
Thank you for your generous comments. I love your practice of writing poems in different notebooks. I have a whole drawerful of gorgeous notebooks that I’ve never used, on the theory that I’m “saving” them–for what, I’m not sure. So now, you have inspired me to start writing in them!
Most sincerely
Mary Jane
The somatic-spirit cries out. Thanks so very much for such a wonderful poem. You remind us we are embodied souls, or if you prefer ensouled bodies. The history is well-spoken. Here’s to a community of scriveners and poets contra infernal computerdom!