The They


They say, “Poetry is a man’s game.”

“Mathematics and philosophy too,” They say. Mathematics, philosophy, two sides of the one coin: the interrogation of reality through symbol. “Ah,” They say, “things concerning the abstract are men’s business.”

“Women are too concerned with the ‘domestic’ to be able to engage with the abstract,” They say, “their minds don’t work that way,” skipping down its well-trod path from Don’t-choose-to to Can-not.

Like everything They says, it can be “proved” to the precise degree it can be disproved.

They is a fool.


Image: Preincarnation by Wang Qingsong


16 thoughts on “The They

  1. Very interesting tis post of yours… Though I have little to say for ‘the they sayers’, I can say this much, and I give you this as my reaction to these faceless voices. This being the last verse of a three verse poem I wrote, called “Fear Of Living” ~ wants summon courage ~ ;

    Thus need objectives

    Not be swayed,

    By the proverbial theys

    Who so feign credence

    Invoking so, they say,

    Be without reference

    Save lamentable staids,

    Life hath so daunted

    Would hold fear of living!

    Jean-Jacques Fournier


  2. Could it get any better than this?

    Quiet descended on her,
    Calm, content, as her needle,
    Drawing the silk smoothly
    To its gentle pause,
    Collected the green folds together
    And attached them, very lightly,
    To the belt.

    So on a summer’s day
    Waves collect, overbalance,
    And fall;
    Collect and fall;
    And the whole world seems to be saying
    “That is all”
    More and more ponderously,
    Until even the heart in the body
    Which lies in the sun on the beach
    Says too, That is all.

    Fear no more, says the heart.
    Fear no more, says the heart,
    Committing its burden to some sea,
    Which sighs collectively for all sorrows,
    And renews, begins, collects, lets fall.
    And the body alone listens
    To the passing bee;
    The wave breaking;
    The dog barking,
    Far away barking and barking.

    Virginia Woolf.


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