Trev writing at his desk, drinking snoot, wondering why Em has not responded to any of his correspondence. Having poured his mind and heart into ink and paper, opened his soul as he has to no one before, the silence, with each shot of blue snoot, a little stronger than his normal brew, tolls more damning. The work below was found in his trash on a single sheet of paper, apparently written at one sitting. He starts with a remembrance of Em on Polaris, the two of them playing in the rain. Then, something triggers a shift and the emotion turns and what is of his father and what is of Em is no longer clear, for floodwater does not discriminate. Translated from the original Hynerian.
It came
the rain
I remember the day
warm
Ooooooooooooh
You looked at me
and I looked at you
our words packed away
as you took my hand
and I remembered
how to skip
Ooooooooooooh
Our tongues wagged like dogs
and our faces looked like windshields
the earth beneath our unshod feet
the heavens washing our hair
I remember
Ooooooooooooh
My regrets
like debts
pile up
unpaid
I look okay
from the outside
like a fresh painted house
burned on the inside
In my chair I sit
collapsing inward
the world oblivious
faces passing
unnoticed
Into my heart
your fingers reach
an ache
I only feel with the pull
of my fucking teeth
Suction
the marrow from my bones
you take
and I feel weird
as if you took the piss
from my bladder
So to you
I say
fuck you
with prejudice
with a touchdown in sight
stiff-arm
I've got time
and I'm watching it
drip
away
like the blood from your veins
your life
in my hands
and this is where I say
fuck you
In my darkness
you are the candle
that burns
only in my memory
for the wind has come
and the light is gone
and only the howling remains
10 comments:
"Our tongues wagged like dogs
and our faces looked like windshields
the earth beneath our unshod feet
the heavens washing our hair.."
*sigh*
Just Beautiful.
Even as each poem strides forth, fresh and detached, at least detachable, from those in proximity, here amongst is one where the difference is more pronounced. Quite unlike anything you have written before, it is cutting, glaring, brash, this is of course the second part that I have jumped forward to. To begin with the first, or rather the middle, the transition from light to dark, from skip to suction comes so quickly, though the words of one follow the words of the other, one can only imagine the significance of what lay in between, the joyful memories held against the present anguish, the darkness of his loss surrounding him, suffocating him, I may even be quoting his own words here, certainly they seem used, and Trev being Trev, snoot fortifying one can almost see how his mind could turn, how in apparent rejection, lack of reaction, lack of response, pain upon pain, same pain, repetition, it would boil and blister and in a combination of survival and refusal, an enforced abandonment of the reality that he would have allowed it to matter so much to him, that he rather could have allowed himself to expect he may have been deserving, that he may have been awarded, a fulfilment of what he had dared start, ..hmm.., perhaps, but in short, it is quite possible to spend as long between the two parts as with each of them. Very cleverly done.
Thank you Meleah. I kinda liked that image too. :-)
Ms Storm, what I had hoped to do here, and it has to be experienced to be understood, is show how quickly emotion, the kind of emotional state Trev is in, just how quickly he can go from happy thoughts to not happy thoughts, that emotion knows neither light nor dark but rather skates precariously between the two with just the slightest of breezes to sway one this way or that. And yes, from my own experience, mood, especially in a snoot induced state, can change just that quickly. I didn't need imagination to write this one. :-D
I love how you write lines like
It came
the rain
and
You looked at me
and I looked at you
how to explain why without sounding unforgivably trite, I am not sure that I can, but I would call these poetic statements were I trying to explain them to someone else, the loveliness of them is in the artlessness so to speak, simple, classic, like a single flower in a clear vase, no other adornment necessary to display the clean lines and essential beauty of that single bloom.
On a side note, this part of the poem reminds me of early Lennon/McCartney. :-)
Two parts follow, one after the other, which within the whole are two of the most evocative lines within, the metaphors used to describe his state, how he feels, are incredibly potent, I would confess there was a whiff of charred remains and the devastating echo of crushing as I was reading had someone been enquiring at the time. :-) The whole next part is the part that once I read it, I am so consumed by the words that my own vanish. I will say this much, at least for now, that you have entitled this chapter with the phrase that is the most magnetic, magnetically melodic I want to call it. So sorrowful. So haunting. So lingering. So so.
It seems that you have a unique distinction of having a critical appreciation of your book being written alongside with the book by Ms Storm :)
I live the metaphor of the house painted on outside , but crumbling inside...
Mona, how I have been so blessed is beyond me. Some things you don't question, just appreciate. :-)
As always, thank you for reading and thank you for the always honest comments.
I also felt like Mona...the relation to the house being beautifully painted on the outside, but oh so different on the inside. And howeling wind...the sound of it can be so desolate.
Desolate, what I wonderful word in this context. Thanks for sharing Kimmie. :-)
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