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Who Says You Can’t Go Home: Inspired by Hermann Hesse’s Steppenwolf 

“In the universe, there are things that are known,
and things that are unknown, and in between them,
there are doors.”
~ William Blake

Prompted and written for Dora of @PilgrimDreams.com, the host at dVerse Poetics
for Tuesday, June 11th.

Poetry in Liminal Spaces

Our challenge? Using one of the three types of liminal spaces listed above,
let’s give poetic voice to what “doors” it may open to us. You can employ the
liminal space as the setting and/or the subject. Write about it as an observer or
participant, of how it may prepare, ground, provoke, intrigue you, unexpectedly
or not, for better or worse. You may want to use an image (like those above) for
inspiration. I just want you to have fun exploring the idea of a liminal space and
seeing what you can come up with.

New to dVerse? Please find details in the link.


Who Says You Can’t Go Home: Inspired by Hermann Hesse’s Steppenwolf 

It’s a poor brother, he, who cannot draw pleasure from life for fear of living—
unwilling to live. And stubborn. And rude. And unsympathetic. And goes instead,
breathing the staleness of something learned in a liminal land with many doors,
and dark passages.

A land of overstimulated, easily bored people with plinth entitlements
practiced in grim hallways with faceless souls, alone but not alone, who never
reveal real names. And no one speaks. And unwilling to learn to live.

Each, feeling the wrath of hell burning, extinguished momentarily, but mistaking
it for the womb; the Om of heaven. For whom solitude is cold, but solitude is
independence from judging eyes.

Disengaged and cross with the toneless Om of the sterile life of his countryman,
the brother—alone in the womb of home, now foreign—taps too often into those
filthy hallways but only in his pool of memory. Alone. Very alone.

Pitiful! Now he’s deep in Om, living among simple people practiced in the
kind of Om where grace enters the soul. He wants them to change their Om
for the mist of a mistaken heaven.

With pockets full of cash, brandishing it with cynicism, knowing how hard
these simple people have to work for half of what he burns on his hell herbs
of choice, he commits outrages.

No one is above him; not even God. He is god—why is this so incompre-
hensible to everyone? No, such a beast cannot go home. Such a beast,
misinformed of heaven, cannot find home, nor joy, nor inclusion.

He’s already dead—no one takes him seriously.
The poor brother! He’s a dead coward, celled in a liminal passage
somewhere. Dead because he never learned to live.

©️ selma


Thanks for reading.

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Selma Martin
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This Post Has 30 Comments

  1. beth

    so well done, selma. i have always been fascinated by liminal spaces

    1. rajkkhoja

      who never
      reveal real names. And no one speaks. And unwilling to learn to live.

      Each, feeling the wrath. Amazing words written you.

      1. Selma Martin

        Those words—so happy you liked them. You’re always a great encourager my friend. Thank you.

        1. rajkkhoja

          Always your kindness reply to me. Iam so…so .glad! You Like them.
          My pleasure!

    2. Selma Martin

      Liminal spaces. This is only the second time I’ve written about liminal spaces. You should see what the others have written. Wowed indeed.
      Thanks Beth. Bless you.

    3. Selma Martin

      Beth 🤗 Liminal spaces. This is only the second time I’ve written about liminal spaces. You should see what the others have written. Wowed indeed.
      Thanks Beth. Bless you.

  2. Laura Bloomsbury

    what an indictment of Harry’s struggle in your poetry – ” cannot find home, nor joy, nor inclusion.”

    he’s a favourite character of mine, daring to go into the liminal spaces not tasted in youth and doomed to live in wondering

    1. Selma Martin

      Laura thanks for your beautiful words. Happy you saw something here—I wasn’t sure. Bless you.

  3. A.H. Starlingsson

    This one goes in the direction of Ionesco, of Beckett, of Canterbury Tales too. A real tour de force. Sublime indictment, to be read as very good for is eaten.

    1. Selma Martin

      Hello, A.H. I appreciate your reading and commenting. So pleased you liked my attempt on this prompt. Bless you.

    1. Selma Martin

      Di. Yes. That’s so true. Thanks for reading. Blessings.

    1. Selma Martin

      Loneliness feeds on more of itself. It’s a wicked thing. I’m so pleased you read and commented, Björn. Thanks for liking it too 🤗

  4. dorahak

    From the opening … “And goes instead,
    breathing the staleness of something learned in a liminal land with many doors,
    and dark passages” …
    to the ending …. “He’s a dead coward, celled in a liminal passage
    somewhere. Dead because he never learned to live” ….
    you lead us in this descent down into the mind of one whose very nature is to be a “beast,” for whom life is empty and lonely because shunned. What a cautionary tale, Selma, written in the style of a wise but passionate sage’s recounting, pouring scorn on the “home”-lessness of one who cynically sells a false heaven for the true and creates hell for himself and others.

    I have not read the book that inspired this poem but you’ve spurred my curiosity to do so. As someone commented above, your poem is a tour de force, a creation that will linger in my mind for a long time. Thank you for sharing this with us.

    1. Selma Martin

      Hello dear Dora. Thanks for the prompt, for showing me how to do it with yours and for liking mine. A cautionary tale it is indeed. Of a beast for whom life is empty and lonely because shunned —you got that so right.
      And then seconding that the poem is a tour de force— 🤗 how very very sweet.
      Thanks for the prompt. You rock.

  5. Anonymous

    First of all, I love this book! Secondly, your poem is so deep and insightful, it led my mind off into a deep and meandering musing on the human condition. So beautifully wise, Selma. I was especially struck by this whole section:

    “A land of overstimulated, easily bored people with plinth entitlements
    practiced in grim hallways with faceless souls, alone but not alone, who never
    reveal real names. And no one speaks. And unwilling to learn to live.” – Perfection👌🏼

    “Each, feeling the wrath of hell burning, extinguished momentarily, but mistaking
    it for the womb; the Om of heaven. For whom solitude is cold, but solitude is
    independence from judging eyes.” – Wow! 🤩

  6. Sunra Rainz

    Oops, that anonymous comment below was from me! I’ve notice this keeps happening when I post on your posts sometimes, I’ll have to keep an eye on it.

  7. Belladonna

    The last line took me out!!! Dead because he never learned to live. WOW!!!

  8. Melissa Lemay

    “he, who cannot draw pleasure from life for fear of living—
    unwilling to live”
    A sad state indeed, yet so many live there.

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