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Sam Vaknin

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· FREE A Critique of Piketty's Capital in the Twenty-first Century [

· FREE DOWNLOAD The Death of Sex and the Demise of Monogamy

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Short Stories
· Nedís Short Life

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· The Narcissist's Seriously Ill child and Munchausen by Proxy Syndrome

· The Narcissist's Disabled and Challenged Children

· Network vs. Hierarchy as Organizing Principles in Business and the Economy

· Macedonia National and University Libraryís Digital Revolution

· The Narcissist in Custody Battles

· FBI Warns: Google Used by Malicious Hackers

· Israelís Brinkmanship: after the Elections in 2015

· ECB (European Central Bank) vs. Bundesbank (Germany)

· The Eurozone's Greek Future

· Live and Let Die: The West's Perennial Error of Picking Sides


Poetry
· Her Birthday

· Hebrew Love

· My Putrid Lover

· Twinkle Star

· Synthetic Joy

· Our Love Alivid

· The Miracle of the Kisses

· Selfdream

· In Moist Propinquity

· A Hundred Children

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Books by Sam Vaknin
  Why Does a Narcissist Write Poetry?
by Sam Vaknin
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Not rated by the Author.

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Recent poems by Sam Vaknin
•  Her Birthday
•  Hebrew Love
•  My Putrid Lover
•  Twinkle Star
•  Synthetic Joy
           >> View all 25


I use words as others use algebraic signs: with meticulousness, with caution, with the precision of the artisan.


They say, with a knowing smile: "If he is really a narcissist - how come he writes such beautiful poetry?".


"Words are the sounds of emotions" - they add - "and he claims to have none". They are smug and comfortable in their well classified world, my doubters.


But I use words as others use algebraic signs: with meticulousness, with caution, with the precision of the artisan. I sculpt in words. I stop. I tilt my head. I listen to the echoes. The tables of emotional resonance. The fine tuned reverberations of pain and love and fear. Air waves and photonic ricochets answered by chemicals secreted in my listeners and my readers.


I know beauty. I have always known it in the biblical sense, it was my passionate mistress. We made love. We procreated the cold children of my texts. I measured its aesthetics admiringly. But this is the mathematics of grammar. It was merely the undulating geometry of syntax.


Devoid of all emotions, I watch your reactions with the sated amusement of a Roman nobleman.


I wrote:


"My world is painted in shadows of fear and sadness. Perhaps they are related - I fear the sadness. To avoid the overweening, sepia melancholy that lurks in the dark corners of my being - I deny my own emotions. I do so thoroughly, with the single-mindedness of a survivor. I persevere through dehumanization. I automate my processes. Gradually, parts of my flesh turn into metal and I stand there, exposed to sheering winds, as grandiose as my disorder.


I write poetry not because I need to. I write poetry to gain attention, to secure adulation, to fasten on to the reflection in the eyes of others that passes for my Ego. My words are fireworks, formulas of resonance, the periodic table of healing and abuse.


These are dark poems. A wasted landscape of pain ossified, of scarred remnants of emotions. There is no horror in abuse. The terror is in the endurance, in the dreamlike detachment from one's own existence that follows. People around me feel my surrealism. They back away, alienated, discomfited by the limpid placenta of my virtual reality.


Now I am left alone and I write umbilical poems as others would converse.


Before and after prison, I have written reference books and essays. My first book of short fiction was critically acclaimed and commercially successful.


I tried my hand at poetry before, in Hebrew, but failed. Tis strange. They say that poetry is the daughter of emotion. Not in my case.


I never felt except in prison - and yet there, I wrote in prose. The poetry I authored as one does math. It was the syllabic music that attracted me, the power to compose with words. I wasn't looking to express any profound truth or to convey a thing about myself. I wanted to recreate the magic of the broken metric. I still recite aloud a poem until it SOUNDS right. I write upright - the legacy of prison. I stand and type on a laptop perched atop a cardboard box. It is ascetic and, to me, so is poetry. A purity. An abstraction. A string of symbols open to exegesis. It is the most sublime intellectual pursuit in a world that narrowed down and has become only my intellect."


Poetry of Healing and Abuse


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Reviewed by jude forese 11/5/2006
each poet writes for their own reasons ... i write because it is the most effective mode in which to express my thought, emotion and philosophy ... i can't imagine writing to inflate my ego or to get attention ... it would be much too distracting ... anyway, i enjoyed reading this creative endeavor in explaining your antecedent for writing poetry ...
Reviewed by richard cederberg 11/1/2006
I sense a compulsive melancholy in this write. And I also believe that a true narcissist cares about naught save the foibles of his/her own reflection.

Art for a narcissist would be relegated only to the consumption of the one creating it. Thusly in the end game rendering itself a moot point.

Poetry in Hebrew?

Some believe, as I do, that Hebrew is the pure language, the language that the whole of society spoke before the "Tower of Babel" incident in the Old Testament.

I suppose that one could, if time permitted, pursue an extensive exegesis on this write, but if the writer is trully a bonafide narcissist they wouldn't pay any attention anyway. So .......

Light and Wisdom ...
Richard Lloyd Cederberg
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