Zenzizenzizenzic

(formless version)

I am exactly who I say I am. This much is true, in and of itself.

Yes, you are exactly who you say you are. One, two, three, maybe still one more.

He is exactly who he says he is. Take this claim; ponder it; put it on a shelf.

But wait, is this now a tetrad? There is still one left that remains to be accounted for.

It speaks on rare occasion. One is exactly who one says one is… assert oneself!

At least a couple of these elusive characters always seem to take the back door!

Some claim that there exist still more. Fivefold or beyond? ‘Tis a matter of perspective.

Some far-off places recognize yet others, but to us, everything’s subjective.

Here’s a novel idea. Want to meet some friends of mine? They’ve many a good old story.

Of course, each one has his oddities or quirks, so please remember, try to understand.

They’ll talk about anything they feel like… morning glory, old pet lory, memento mori.

Some are naïve, not reliable, distort the facts. Some didn’t even experience it firsthand!

Others use a more detached, objective, insightful point-of-view. So we’ll take inventory.

(Many hours later…) We’ll do this again sometime, invite others, more stories planned!

“Who was that last person who just left? A storyteller, is that who you’d addressed?”

Well, sort of … but you still haven’t identified our first mystery guests!

On writing "Zenzizenzizenzic"

The goal was to write either a poem in a particular form or as a shape poem. In this case, both of those are used. It is written in ottava rima (“eighth rhyme”), using eight iambic lines, and the poem itself was Poem #8, so the title is an obscure old word that means “to the eighth power.” The rhyme scheme is a-b-a-b-a-b-c-c. The first half of the poem is a reference to various grammatical persons (including the existence of the fourth person and beyond in some languages), and at least one line assumes the voice of each person. Then the second half talks about narrative voices (omniscient, unreliable, etc). The shape of the poem is a (sideways) arbelos, a geometric shape whose name means “shoemaker’s knife” in Greek.