As a blind man before
book
And a deaf man at
concert
An eunuch before the
queen is my desire
my lust
for relief
As a poet without
sky (tongue)
And a lover without
hand
An arrow taut upon
bow is my want
my need
for release
As the prayer without
lord
And the cherry without
finger
A grape succulent
weighs the vine
hangs my quest
grows my ache
for pluck
7 comments:
Before I read this post, I must leave a simple, yet heartfelt WOW! for the image.
Wonderful fractal, Tree !
The poem is as spectacular. I sit here wondering how many wows does it take to render a permanent state of marshmellowness and yet at the same time I know the truth of it, that that state was reached long ago. I sit with these poems, this poem, another wow added to the infinite number that came before, none two the same by definition, extent however runs along a very narrow margin somewhere at the furthest reaches of the scale. The only issue there is with repetitiveness is the word itself, wow titles the thoughts and feelings connected to the experience of reading, but to break it down, to categorize it, to attempt to describe, is a task that is impossible yet an attempt is made time and again. Words come to mind that have been spoken a thousand times, the words that do envelope all that you write, that is a part of what it is that takes them to the edge. Simplicity, flow, innovativeness, imagery. As a blind man before
book
And a deaf man at
concert is a classic example of the combine, twisted threads that somehow woven tight, not a particle of air between them, simplicity and complexity, to say it in the simplest of ways your metaphors, lines like the above, like magic, with divinity, so they are when I look upon them, like the essential truths of life, on the one hand so encompassing one stands on the border surveying infiniteness, on the other it is the quintessential feature of the landscape, when you write, when you illustrate, you have an innate, rare and special talent, an awe-inspiring talent for conveying the entire picture in an instant snapshot, somehow both with fascinating creativity and yet at the same time as one is awed by the viewing so to speak of what you have created occurs, awe re-floods as one understands how instantaneously that was achieved. Cup. See the word. In that moment, instantly, a cup appears in the mind does it not. Three or four or five, or even one or two words used, but where here is a cup, there is all the world, all of life, so it is, in that moment of reading. None of this makes much sense, I know, more later, got to go. Sweet dreams when you get that far H
Thanks Annie. :-)
Sunshine, I've not been able to read of late. Today, I stopped by my favorite bookstore and as I was perusing the aisles, I couldn't bring myself to even pull a book from the shelf, as if to read would hurt, was dangerous, as if I was afraid I'd forgotten how. As I was standing there, letting the feeling saturate my consciousness, I thought, what would it be like to have a desire, to read, to be there, in a bookstore, and yet not be able to satisfy that need. I felt as a blind man in a bookstore.
Still, the gist of this poem is the need for relief from the unbearable stress. As always, your kind and engaged words delight me to no end.
Cheers,
H
Poppet
You tell it like it is, Tree. But, in a way that simply transcends...
...everything.
You make this feeling seem beautiful with your words.
But, it is not a beautiful feeling.
Or is it?
I guess it's all in how you look at it.
(And it would probably depend on my mood too. =P )
I dunno, sometimes I look at how I feel like this most days and think it derives from a certain state of awareness. That it's a turning point, of sorts.
I just need to get past the turn.
Anyhow, I've caught up on two of these poems here and they are both something I connect with in so many ways already. I love how you see this world, Tree. It's so great to read.
Miss you.
Strumper, your comments make me feel all warm inside and I realize how much I've missed having you around. I love to see what others see in the poems I write, for with each view, each interpretation, the poem grows deeper for me and becomes something more than just what was in my mind. Thank you for being so Strumperlicious! I may need to start searching for flavored butter. :-D
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