Was
- Click the video for the word jazz. ;)
your eyes of smoke dissipated
formless
attenuated
nothing but sunspots ascending
as you passed through me
a thought
a wave upon my breast
a sanctuary
key-holed view
and then you were gone
nothingness
in the land
of
Was
My yt channel:
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCBk3MjXsRH6L9S3IRhASklw?view_as=subscriber
This reminds me of my latest two poems. The topic is universal, though.
I'd like to start with the ending, as if we contrast this with my "Theodore," then here it speaks to leaving something behind, truly, that it no longer is part of you. Though I guess one could question whether nothingness "is," since it certainly seems to constantly pop up.
But while Theodore was a poem of longing, and there is some longing here, this definitely feels more like a poem of bidding farewell, of letting go. But it is a question of who let go of whom, because it feels more than the speaker letting go of a memory, that of the memory deciding to leave.
A memory, or a person.
Because while it is voiced as if it's a memory, sitting with someone who is dying, truly does fit the beginning. And in that light, the poem is about all that that person was to you, passing through you on their way to becoming energy.
And rather than disappearing from your soul, they tuned like tuning forks, to all that they were for you. And then they were gone, not from your soul where they still are, but from the land of the living, as you watched them go.
"Key-holed view," now that is a phrase that arrests my view. On one hand, it can seem as if it is about someone whose view is narrow, who can only peer at the world, rather than see the big open picture.
On the other hand, it is someone who is seeking to see what is hidden, who tries to see beyond the locked door, who is inquisitive.
It definitely feels like a door, or rather, windows are closing, going from "eyes of smoke dissipated" to the "key-holed view."
And of course, the two can be joined, and also apply as a metaphor to us all - how we try to view the world, we keep trying to make sense of it all, to see life. But what we see, is really quite limited, as if peering through a keyhole.
P.S. I Hope Matilde is fine.
I like reading this one semi modified backwards. I think you should make a happy video. (Brighter). Or not.
ha, what would a "happy" video look and sound like?
I'm actually a rather happy person (not like a stepford wife). :P
I didn’t say you’re not happy. Note the parenthesis. Happy is relative, I knew/_feared_it could be misinterpreted. Not-dark, literally maybe, hence brighter. I’m scared of the dark, as I read and post this in complete darkness.
hehe... I was more poking at you than being serious. ;)
Hey, are you anywhere near the fires? That all looked terrible.
I wasn’t when they happened. I was on Crete when those fires were happening on the mainland near Athens. There actually was one on Crete too but it wasn’t nearly as bad and I don’t believe there were any injuries. I’m back in the US now.
Oh good, I'm glad you are fine. Some of the stories I read made me well up -- fire is a terrible thing when it is out of control.
Reading this one, i had a strange feeling of both formless and divided space, somewhere. Maybe within letters, maybe beyond. In short, highly enjoyable poem. And frankly another good starting point for discussion, dear. You know i love such talks with you :) .
This is one of those that came right out and landed on the page, pretty much as is. I find that when something is wafting round in my thoughts for a while, and perhaps gaining momentum via other thoughts, memories, desires, and all that good fodder that there is more for me as the piece is nuanced and not so much about a single subject of focus. Is this something that goes on for you also?
To some extent yes. I do believe in self-generating poetry through waves of processes you have evoked here. Though, you know, i am also of opinion that there is not so much something about inspiration too. How about likening it to salt slowly being extracted from sea water within a frame of slow process?
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