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Let’s start again

Posted by animan on May 17, 2011 - 18:08

You glimpse down the path we did not take,
in shadow play – murmur into the garden we
did not enter. I follow – the avenue, blue
with unremembered manicure and hedge, glowing
somnolent before the sky-seeming pines.
In the Italian garden, unseen, the bench,
redolent of what did not happen, its surface
crushed with fallen seed of unborn fruit –
dried, sensual, aroma’ed, sensed, unseen. Across from
mirrors and ghosts of carp – pool, the Grecian
urn, overflowing
roseate and petals unseen, unobserved, its stone-like
curls snaking in the heat of forgotten,
ungiven memory – there you curve and lean,
where you have ever, never been, pen of elbow nestled,
water words, between flower tickle and silent dragonfly caress,
and whisper, unsaying, ‘Let’s start again’ – unspoken noise,
unspeaking ...

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Comments

The Big Bad G | May 19, 2011 - 17:15

You make things flow so easily Animan, damn you... ;op The cascade of images refreshes itself so well, like it's starting again all the way through.

animan | May 28, 2011 - 15:02

You know, it's a funny thing about this site, and the main reason why I 'like' it, is that you post something here, however ambiguous, and you feel yourself respond to the response of others, stated or lurking. (I think others have commented on this - this sense of an indefinable, defining reaction to something here on the virtual aether.) I wrote this as a depressive poem, intent on 'undermining' the triumphalism, the 'answer-ism' in the 'IP'/'topic'. But, now, with your reaction, the reaction I sense in the aether, events since writing it ('art' prefiguring 'life-art' kind of thing), now, I'm not so sure. This is no big 'poem', but I've grown truly fond of it ... like a little moment that got 'big' in my mind. Catalysts, stimuli, responses, orientation, re-orientation ... I'm glad for that ... and, no, I'm not talking about sex, nor feelings or velleities (sic?) but about emotions - subtle enough not to fit easily in quick characterisations - the elemental and powerful that we feel does not need, by necessity, to be simple or easy to classify or determine. That's the fundamental beauty of it all.In ambiguity, perhaps, lies hope. Certainty is not viable. Hope lies perhaps ... in the spirit of virtuous uncertainty. I'm being prolix - apologies.

The Big Bad G | May 31, 2011 - 10:06

Well in relation to the poem, what I more immediately took from it was a dreamy anticipation. It's a sensually rich poem but everything seems to be happening off-stage, with mirrors, ghosts, unseen and paths not followed. Maybe that is depressive, maybe it's the moment just before the spark.

Re the prolix - I prefer to think of things like this as vectors; not ambiguous, but keys to something only we understand as individuals. The cliche of 'striking a note' is true because it resonates in my experience, which is a different note from yours, and everyone elses'. And now I fear I'm being purple...

animan | June 2, 2011 - 18:29

Cool - totally get what you're saying. Not purple at all. Really interesting and insightful for me - thank you. I love your notions of vectors. I hadn't realised it before but I think I do think, feel, theel, fink in vectors - awesome!! There should be a word for a combination of sense that sort of combines head and heart. Because, perhaps, we don't have a word for that - something like 'headarting' or 'heartheading' - true? - we thus find it hard to do. As Orwell explores in '1984', if our language is limited then so is our thought. Not a problem in your case of course.