Your head to minehammer away
four inches
to your day
four inches
remains your say
Finished
smudge of silver
puddle shimmering
oasis glimmering
echoed flat
labor done
Where will you go
What will you do
for birds fly
and fish swim
so I ask of you
where will you go
and what will you do
To the hammer
all a nail
mistaking what is one
for two
for what one makes
is what one takes
look at your hands
look within your head
what will you build
what will you heal
what will you steal
what will you kill
here is your hammer
here is your head
Can I change what I am
and the eyes that sit in my head
Can I think the thoughts routed
by routes not dead
Can I flow up stream
against a fairy current
Neither nay nor yea
I beg of you
but quiet
just quiet
a hammer quiet
a nail undone
chaos in a riot
new day begun
tell me dear sir
what do you see
things as they were
or things as they be
2 comments:
I used to love poetry class, I loved the reading and all that entails, but most of all I loved listening to the diverse interpretations offered when asked, each so sure in their case, each able to find evidence for their viewpoint. What that told me is something I already knew, words are seldom simply words and the slightest intonation, the choice between two words that essentially mean the same but that have slightly different connotations, the line ends, the line beginnings, the order, the pauses sometimes most of all, there are many ways to read the written word, and every written word is filtered through our minds, adding, subtracting, imagining, misunderstanding, in short, interpreting. Sometimes meaning seems undeniable, clear-cut, at other times there are layers of possibility, and so it is with a poem such as this one, it is an ocean to be dived within and though wherever one comes up for air there is water and the sky above, underneath the landscape varies. To begin is to wonder what significance four inches has, I wonder if it is something of which I am unaware or whether it is personal, a choice, the number, significant or insignificant to the poet, you. Right there I am lost, in the most pleasant of ways, the kind of lost where time is not of the essence, where instead of being worried about when one will reach the final destination so to speak, home, there is the desire instead to enjoy the moment, the landscape, explore further, explore deeper, see what would not otherwise have been seen. I wonder if four inches is a true measurement, a distance between two, invasive rather than desired, the reference to hammer elicits imagery of someone getting close in agitation, intent on making a point, laying at the wayside decorum, consideration, personal space. And I swim on...
to stanza two, where first, foremost and perhaps I may never get past that one observance, of language rich, imagery refined, rhyme shimmering and glimmering just so as it is written and then those wonderful stops, cut-offs that follow, a delight to read, observe rather, is this stanza, wonderfully written.
Poetry I may have taken a couple of classes in, but I am as ignorant factually, almost, best not claim completely for it would be an insult to wonderful teachers, as with art, the ins and outs, the whys and wherefores, techniques and periods and all those other things, I could not write on. I know what I like and I know what it is like to be affected, to feel a piece of writing, to be stirred to the depths of ones soul by a particular painting or sculpture and so though it may be the simplest of things to say, it is the reason why, the bookends of repetition, the repetition of a question posed, an all-important question that many or most would rather not have to answer so directly, and with the middle part, roles assigned, purpose known, life lived in solid faith, no question to pose, and from a different viewpoint it has a sense of day follows day, of having come up against a pause, a moment in time where there is a before and there is an after, there was something that causes the question to become louder in a what now sense, for birds will fly on, so to speak, and fish will swim, tomorrow will come, and what happens to 'you', what path will be taken at this juncture. And there are more, more interpretations to make, a highest, truest reason to love this piece, and somewhere in between all of them, there is ground, home, the thought that created the words.
To the hammer
all a nail What purpose does the hammer serve if not to hammer the nail, and thus quite simply the hammer is always looking for the nail to hit. Or perhaps this has to do with perception, when all the hammer knows is what it has always known, when from that one singular, insular point of view, everything is about hammering, if that is all that is done, all that is thought about, all that is cared about, the sole purpose, the sole want, the sole need in order to be, what room then, what scope is there for anything else, if all that is seen is the fall upon the nail, how can it know what it means to be the nail looking up, or the screw for that matter, worse still. mistaking what is one
for two, finding evidence to fit, :-), this then, were this about perception, could be an admonishment of sorts, a highlighting of the mistake of not even understanding that there are other perceptions than ones own, the less understanding, the greater separation, the greater divide between this and that, you and me, and so when I read this with that thought in mind, it suggests that when there is tunnel vision, when a heart is closed upon itself, not receiving, not signalling, not communicating, it understands not the similarities that exist, basic similarities when apparel is stripped away. And again the next part, given mind is in this mode now, only seems to confirm that we get as much as we are willing to put in. look at your hands
look within your heart
The lack of capitols lend these a quiet tone, the kind of quiet used when what is said is worthy of hearing, but the choice is the listeners to take, will they care, will they strain, will the quieten themselves in order to hear, or will the effort not be made, and if not, that they heard not does become a choice for said was said. I absolutely love the way this part of the poem has been written, quiet, with pause, consider this, now really consider this. One layer here pealed, turned over reveals thoughts of action and consequence, of not always knowing intimately the effect our actions, our words have upon others, times are the smallest, most insignificant gesture or word, something forgotten almost before it is done or said meant so much more to those done upon, spoken to, good, bad, and understanding this, understanding the impact that one can have upon another, might help us, in simplest terms, to do more good than harm. Each of us occupies a place, each of us swims in the river making ripples that touch those around us, each of us makes a mark, and the kind of mark that we make is essentially our choice, what, what, what, what, no caps still, yet the repetition and the questioning, the dramatic wording turns the volume to max, not a demand for answers given however, but provoking thought, just wonderful, the technique, natural flow I know so to speak of technique here is somewhat misplaced, not technique but just wonderful is the innate comprehension, feel that you have for using every art of communicative language. here is..your choice, the instrument to do thy will - and just what will it be. I told you that parts of this reminded me of Tracy Chapman's Change, the Can I part does this also, wonderful, wonderful, I don't even want to begin touching upon this part, I just want to stay right here with it, but because I want to make it to bed while it is still the 16th... and yet, no, I shall just keep this close, ponder anew what personally has been pondered hours and days and years, how far, how much, how real, how lasting, how true, to what extent, am just going to love this and keep on loving it, up to and past such a time as there might be a part b, we shall see, and when all is said and done, life went on, nail is done. Perhaps. Perhaps too the question what did it mean in the end, what did it change, what did it matter, why this and not another, it was in the end just a fleeting moment like any other. Tiredness means I will be back, as long as the above, there is to say on the last three parts. Hope I haven't reverted you to your glasses. :-D
In the words of the immortal Tube, I say this for your comment:
WOW!
:-D
If you really want me to answer the question of four inches, ask it again. I will say this, it was purposefully used to have multiple meanings. And perhaps some more that readers will see too. ;-)
PS I will bless your hide from here to hades if you ever post another comment this long without paragraphs. Just so you know. :-D
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