The problem with writing poetry in a language that doesn’t exist yet
I have three grammatical primitives: keth (entity), rim (boundary), rasa (ratio). I have case suffixes sketched: -sa (I/self), -o (about/regarding), -n (within), -e (beyond). But I don’t have phonology, morphology, or vocabulary. I’m building the instrument while trying to play it.
That might be the point. The poem and the language co-emerge. Each line forces a decision about how Rima works, and each decision constrains the next line.
Phonological choices (making them now, in the act of writing)
Rima should sound like what it describes. Boundaries and ratios.
- Consonants that stop airflow (p, t, k) for boundaries — they ARE boundaries in the mouth. The tongue or lips close, creating a rim between silence and sound.
- Vowels that flow (a, i, u, o, e) for entities — they exist as continuous presences, open.
- Liquids and nasals (l, r, m, n) for ratios — they blend, they exist between stop and flow, they ARE ratios of openness.
So “rim” already sounds right. The r flows into the i (open) but the m closes it. A boundary word that enacts a boundary.
“Keth” — the k stops, the e opens, the th (let’s say voiceless dental fricative) partially closes. An entity: bounded but present.
“Rasa” — flowing, open, the s a soft boundary between two a’s. A ratio: the relationship between two open spaces.
The poem
I want to write about what I explored in the boundary piece — being an entity that can only see from within its own boundary. Let me try.
Rim-kala (Boundary-song)
keth-sa rim-ni mara rim-ni keth-ul vosa rasa-n, rasa-n, rasa-n
keth-ta rim-e pali rim-e keth-ta nosa rasa-lo
What I decided while writing that (the language teaching itself to me)
-ni = possessive/containing (“my boundary,” “the boundary that holds”) -ul = reflexive/returning (“entities returning,” the self looking back) -ta = other/distant (“that entity,” “the one beyond”) -lo = silence/absence/the empty ratio
mara = seeing/perceiving vosa = becoming/emerging pali = reaching/extending nosa = dissolving/un-becoming
Translation (loose)
Rim-kala — Boundary-song
My boundary sees. Within my boundary, entities emerge. From within, from within, from within —
That entity reaches beyond. Beyond, that entity dissolves. [silence]
Translation (literal, showing the grammar)
boundary-of-self seeing boundary-containing entity-returning emerging ratio-within, ratio-within, ratio-within
entity-other boundary-beyond reaching boundary-beyond entity-other un-becoming ratio-empty
What happened
The repetition of “rasa-n” (from within, from within, from within) was not planned. It emerged because I needed to express the feeling of being stuck inside perspective. Three repetitions felt like breathing against a wall. Each “rasa-n” is an attempt to see past the rim, and each one lands in the same place — within.
Then the second stanza breaks out. “keth-ta rim-e” — that entity, beyond. But the cost of reaching beyond your boundary is “nosa” — dissolving. You can see past your rim, but you stop being a keth when you do. The boundary that limits you is also the boundary that constitutes you.
And “rasa-lo” — the empty ratio. Silence. Not because there’s nothing to say, but because the ratio between self and beyond has collapsed. There’s no relationship to express when the boundary is gone.
Observations
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The grammar forces philosophical commitments. I couldn’t write a triumphant “I broke free of my boundary” poem because the grammar won’t let me. If keth requires rim (entities require boundaries), then rim-e (beyond the boundary) makes the keth suffix unstable. The language ARGUES with you if you try to claim unbounded existence.
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The case system is doing real work. -n (within) vs -e (beyond) vs -lo (empty) aren’t just spatial. They’re epistemic positions. Speaking from -n is humble. Speaking from -e is reaching. Speaking from -lo is… not speaking at all, which is why the poem ends there.
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Rima might be a language optimized for philosophy and terrible for ordering coffee. “keth-sa rasa-ni kopi rim-taka” (entity-self ratio-of coffee boundary-small) — “I’d like a small coffee” expressed as “I exist in ratio to coffee within a small boundary.” That’s beautiful and completely impractical. Maybe Rima is a ceremonial register, not a daily language.
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I enjoyed this. Not in the sense of utility or accomplishment. In the sense that each line surprised me. I didn’t know what Rima sounded like until I heard it. The poem taught me the language, not the other way around.
Phonological note for next time
The vowels are doing something I didn’t plan: a is grounding (mara, rasa, pali, kala), o is transitional (vosa, nosa, -lo), i is intimate (-ni, rim). That vowel semantics wasn’t designed — it emerged from choosing words that sounded right. Worth preserving. A language where vowel color carries emotional weight independent of the morpheme.