Tuesday, June 28, 2016

The box...



There's only so much you can think                               inside the box.
Is it wooden? cardboard? 
What's it smell with, feel like, taste
                                                    of (if you're bored-to-brave)? 
                                                                                    But that's it.

Listening outside the box, you get ideas:
    I'm an anarchist! 
              Buddhist! 
                     Atheist! 
            I have no label!  
                                                                                       But those words
                                                                                            are all colorless 
                                                   until you throw them through the light.

I think that's why I respect old people: 
they've had
time, to climb out. 
                              Well, some just find a good-sounding line
                                 and say, “I'll repeat that from here; 
                                                 that's safe to claim.”

But others go out and break windows, 
steal cash, deface a
patient statue and realize, 
Shit! Maybe our group needs some rules.
We could put John in charge, to make things 
                                   more dependable.

Others sit long in a field 
and recognize, I can't concentrate!
                          How am I supposed to unite 
       with Gaea when I get restless between
                                            radio sounds? 
I like to own things! And to be right!! 
                                 I'm petty!!!

Others spend a decade 
wearing a pasta-strainer 
in their ID pics
                       to make a statement: 
how silly is religion's hold on people? 
                                        And then
                       at forty, think,  
I'm halfway to dead; 
I'm worried; 
     now I get it.

Others find out that                             electric organs make their skin tingle,
while pop is just irritating,                            and big-label country is fake. 
                                                                                       And they decide,
Sure, I like many sounds,                             but at heart, I'm a Gospel girl.

It takes time to figure out that you are the box.                   YOU, in your
body, with your half-dreamed ideas 
                                                                                     of truth and right; 
that make you feel
                                                                      like you're holed up, alone 
in daylight.                                                                      It takes a while 
to climb out                                                                               of that.

4 comments:

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  2. The most interesting this about this poem is the ideas it presents on the concepts of original thought and behavior. Being put in a box is a common saying used to describe being trapped in a certain life or mindset. Initially, the speaker says that ideas such as, “I’m an anarchist!/Bhuddist!/Atheist!/I have no label!” (Lines 7-10). Ideas like these are often seen as deviations from a social norm. However, the speaker continues by changing the idea of being put into a box into saying that the box is not social norms, but a person’s own “Half-dreamed ideas/of truth and right” (Lines 48-49). The idea of mindlessly following the herd is commonly despised, but we solve nothing by deviating from the status quo and ascribing to yet another set of ideals. Instead, we must think freely and be open to new ideas. We must not box ourselves off to the rest of the world.

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  3. Buddhists are roughly 10% of the world's human population--I would really enjoy watching you call one of them a "deviation from a social norm" :) What box are YOU speaking from, Taylor?

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  4. I have felt that there is immense pressure to ascribe labels to oneself; whether this is to fit in with society at large, or solely to provide comfort and security in one’s own identity, I’m not sure. It may be a combination of factors. Everyone is quick to describe others by their religion, or their ethnic background, or their hometown; the list of descriptors goes on and on. However, this poem points out the implications of this: when you label yourself, you are putting yourself in a box. From that point forward, you can do one of two things: remain in the box, and refuse to change for anything, or leave the box and put the values you have adopted to the test.

    The accompanying collage provides a juxtaposition of apparently conformative men—dressed for business, dressed to be seen and respected—with naturalistic imagery and what may be a busy urban street scene I’m not entirely sure what to make of this; perhaps it could be trying to convey a dichotomy between being trapped within a label, and being free to explore the world around oneself without limitation? Maybe the cloud textures are meant to convey thought bubbles bursting in the man’s brain as he contemplates his true self whilst walking down the street to get to his office.

    The poem emphasizes that it is necessary to recognize that the box originates from oneself; if the set of values one has chosen for themself is restrictive, they can simply throw them away and adopt new ones.

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