Ode to a Rendered Chasm: Poetry, Philosophy, and Comments on Consciousness
By Brett Seaton
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Reviews for Ode to a Rendered Chasm
1 rating1 review
- Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5The title is a lie. None of the content in this novel resembles anything on the front cover. Similarly the title seems to be something the author picked to try to sound fancy without having any true meaning. This Book was written by an author who was rushing to get something out to have an officially published book on their Resume. If you would like to struggle through made up idioms and poor metaphors or you would like to read a poor retelling of of regurgitated Greek philosophy that was done better thousands of years ago, this book is for you. The poetry is the best part of the book even though it lacks any complex structure or devices to make the poem interesting and insightful. Also, it seems to me this is less of poetry and more of short stories told in the form of “poetry” just so it can make the author look better. The author thinks philosophy is asking a bunch of nonsensical questions that aren’t backed in logic. They do this to give the reader and themselves the illusion that they are giving thoughts on consciousness and philosophy. Without any depth attached to the ideas the author tries to avoid any criticism of the faulty logic and false information weaved all throughout the novel. Content aside, the writing structure is very simplistic and reminds me of a writer who exudes confidence in their abilities and is too scared to take a step back and evaluate their work. Overall, if you are looking for philosophy or poetry told in the form of the story I would recommend any other book, my favorite being Thus Spake Zarathustra for this genre. This doesn’t even hit any of the check marks for a beginner.
Book preview
Ode to a Rendered Chasm - Brett Seaton
Notes
Falling
shuffling along the sidewalk
hinged at the waist
I stay neatly between the lines
looking down, unsatisfied
and if my strides don’t match
the cracks, laying asleep at my feet
I will chop my legs down to the right length
and make sure I respect myself
I live in this Gothic house
cobwebs strewn about
with one candle and no clothes
dancing, always dancing
to keep both flames alive
warm white noise spills outside my mug
onto my hand and I watch
as it sizzles against my skin
like fire ants
leaving trails of red
they tell me that a magnet dies when heated
they say it slowly grows too uncontrolled
careening like a helicopter without a pilot
but when it has crashed and burned
it doesn’t spout flame or sizzle
it’s just gone
and when you come back and ask it to be someone
it stares blankly and says
Chaos is all there is
Scars on a twisted sapling
I call dungeons by their middle names
and listen to their throaty response
I got here on my knees
why shouldn’t I?
I hand out compliments like food stamps
my survival dependent on mountains
made to pave our roads when they rest
I paint this labyrinth black
in the hope it will sit and stay
congeal and create
twist and transform
catch me in the act
so I can have someone to apologize to
the dragons I have locked up inside my chest
sputter and spit
melting the clockwork
that keeps my hands and feet
in neutral
o circus, today I have brought
my dragons, a stolen car
10 protons, and a cross
Delphi demands it all
and I am given no solace
my friends do not look too close
or you will see the space between
for where I toil now
is all that she has seen
Dear Giants
brown and green twirl down
from a row of sycamore
into a growing fire
I sift through them
my eyes raking across them
in service to myself
cars fly through my mind
making my hands jitter and twitch
roadkill sleep in tandem
interrupted by those who would clean them up
they were godlike in their surety
shadows of planes and giants roll over