I see vacant
Brutal silence
Tone as dictionary
and I don't much
like eyes without language
I prefer the truth
of fingers
and the youth
in a natural curl
Smiles thrown
natural as dusk
I want my nights dark
My sheets white
and to defy myself
in bitter fruit
electrified on the barbs
of convention
My tongueless head
aches of release
tortured within
skin too tight
Can you give
a brother a hand
11 comments:
Tr'ee, I have caught up, and thanks. I got a poem of my own out of it all.
Christopher, glad to be of service. :-)
I dare not have much faith in my ability to interpret poetry as it is meant to be interpreted, like the twist of a kaleidoscope it only takes a slight turn for the meaning of a word or sentence to alter, on top of that is that multiple levels and meanings can exist, is what remains unsaid found, and are there parts that are meant to remain hidden, all this and more can make every new reading of the same piece of writing seem as though one is reading it for the first time. This poem for example as I read it appears relatively straightforward and so I wonder is that because I am only just skimming the surface at this point or is it as relatively crystal as it seems. I always tend to say more or less the same thing when it comes to the language within your writing which looked at from one way is commendatory pertaining to quality, to impact, to efficiency and to beauty. Your expressions so sensuous, lush is the word that comes to mind each time I make my way through, sumptuous, phrases that catapult to a state of awe quicker sometimes that one can understand, the very sounds as one is reading, words singular connotative, dulcet, but it is the combinations, examples such as Brutal silence, eyes without language, tone as dictionary, a to b, the essence shown, which other words would say brutal silence as proficiently, as promptly. Your gift is direct simplicity regardless of how complex or intricate, how momentous or far-reaching, how personal or how common your subject. Elemental and penetrating, frank and plainspoken, a wonderfully straight, fluid poem. Here it apparent (compliment), though the vast majority of your poetry, you have said, is written this way, that it is spontaneous, written on a wave of inspiration, thought to keypad in one easy, natural movement. Love it.
The first three lines were written with extreme prejudice, then I put them away--in a way, those first three lines are a poem in itself. Vacant, Brutal and Silence are meant as three punches, delivered in succession, bam, bam bam. Vacant eyes, eyes without language, unknowable. I see those eyes staring back at me, wordless as they are, brutal as that silence, there is a tone and in that tone, that look, is everything, the entire frailing dictionary and I want to rip my heart out that I don't know how to understand that tone, to know it, to comprehend it, to hold it, to love it, to communicate with it.
The rest of the poem is purposefully ambiguous. One could see "truth in fingers" as my belief that I trust actions more than words and I prefer innocence of youth to the wisdom of age, where smiles are still without artifice. Then again, I had something a little more naughty in mind with "smile thrown" as in thrown with the intent of being caught--that kind of smile, natural as dusk. :-D
This is a brilliant poem. I loved it!
Thanks Jane. Nice comments are always a guilty pleasure--one of my many. :-D
Okay...either my mind is in a very naughty place, or you caught me off guard and not quite understanding what you mean in this poem. But as far as lending you a hand...ABSOLUTELY! Wink!
Kimmie, this poem was written as a double entendre, so naughty works. :-)
For the record, it was not written with the naughtiness originally in mind, but when I saw the opportunity to "play" I just couldn't pass it by. :-D
I read this poem through quickly and liked it. I read it again, and liked it even more. I found it most striking so read it again!
Deb, you're making me smile now. Thank you for the wonderful compliment. :-)
Post a Comment