“The Scream” by Edward Munch
The scream here is a shout from the existential angst of humankind . There is fire and water behind and you have already crossed the large part of the bridge .The fire is not what you are confronted with as it is behind you but the terror of your future at the end of the bridge .It is the hopelessness of the situation ,the meaninglessness of a landscape which you are trying to relate to and become part of but suddenly realize the futility of it. No matter how much you shout ,you are not heard and your scream merely echoes in the vast wild wastes of your existence .
Do more words mean more thoughts, newer vistas of thinking hitherto unexplored ? Yes .Words are not mere semantics. Words are related to the reality and as words grow the touch with reality expands ,unlocking several newer thoughts. What is usually thought is it is thoughts first and words later. Here is a possibility of the words coming first and then thoughts. It is not necessary that thoughts precede words .Some times it is words which anticipate thought and lead up to it.
An interesting thought is the way poetry expresses thought :
“Poetry involves the choice of ‘wrong’ words, sparking on fortuitous juxtaposition, aroused and charged with tangent powers.Poetcraft breaks the dusty rules of grammar, it seems to distort the language; but, in fact, awakens it, rejuvenates it.The poet’s voice suffers from lapsus linguae : a delightful imbalance.It transforms earthly lies into meaningful axioms.” (Rajendra Panda)
What a practitioner of poetry here says is that poetry is choice of words which is not necessarily deliberate, but a fortuitous juxtaposition ! Poetry distorts the language and breaks grammar. It transforms earthly lies into meaningful axioms .Wonderful . Back to words. Words are not symbols of premeditated thought but have a status of their own in terms of their power to trigger thoughts.
I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there’s a pair of us — don’t tell!
They’d banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog.
How dreary to be somebody ! It is so public to be a frog -in-the-bog where you croak all day long to the bog who is the only listener.