Thursday, August 24, 2006
only prose knows how
the borders of a book bind
the house of fiction
Very timely spotting this one, since my End of Course Assessment on the 20thc Literature course is hoving into view on literary judgments, and I'm also embroiled in the nicieties of context and meaning in 19thc literature... gawd help me...
I soothe myself with the notion that it will all be over in about seven weeks. Eek! That means I'd better get my skates on.
Pass it on!
Time passed you one day
while you grappled life’s minutiae,
as you held the baby,
counted your grey hairs,
planted seed in your garden.
you learned to stand quiet
in the eternal queue.
no time to spend.
and years have creased
your solemn brow-
to drink deeply
a life draught
that keeps solace
will be your fate,
of foolish exile
and the faith
all shall be as memory
the ravage on your face
the years have traced
no more time to spend
and when was there?
Lost in reverie
hours idly strewn;
did you waste time?
On an ancient clock face
golden seconds glimmer
scenes held orb-like
as weight yearning in your hand
you felt passed time.
Blogger doesn't allow me to show this poem the way it was written - the two halves, as such, are meant to appear side by side as mirrors/echoes of each other. Oh well.
Thanks to Poetry Thursday for another gift idea! Time is one of my favourite preoccupations.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
1.One book that changed your life? Taliesin: The Last Celtic Shaman
2.One book you've read more than once? The Fionavar Tapestry (trilogy)
3.One book you'd want on a desert island? The Lord of the Rings
4.One book that made you laugh? Wyrd Sisters
5.One book that made you cry? The ending of The Portrait of A Lady
6.One book that you wish you had written? Paradise
7.One book you wish had never been written? I can't think of any!?!
8.One book you are currently reading? The Awakening/Dracula/Paradise/Wat Whitman
9.One book you have been meaning to read? To The Lighthouse
10.Five people I am tagging: Becoming Amethyst
Apprentice, RobMac, Blank Paige and Carter's Little Pill
although I know they won't thank me - sorry!
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Slience drips like muzzled rain,
too disgusted to fall whole.
I have learned to read pitch perfect
tones, scaled arpeggios, orchestral scores,
that strike chords of nothing.
Seeping misery percolates through
the breeze block bedroom wall.
Gazing at the blind ceiling I wonder
who offended who?
Now, frustrated rage
filters through-- one voice raised,
the weeping other discrete in it's crescendo.
Resolution waits for other rainy nights.
This isn't actually about my parents, more about the discussions and arguments that couples have and my own wondering about how much of our parents lives on in us, in those arguments. These kind of conversations always seem difficult to record or recreate, because if you were to record them, they probably wouldn't make much sense anyway, due to the circularity of most conversations.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Thursday, August 03, 2006
I am not Marianne
and this is no so long.
It is the last day
of a good year where the
old sun has dared it's shine.
A believer in portents
would say a blessing has been served.
And so a harvest glows between us.
A flame that moves us both,
as I hang upon your cruciform
braced for this acceptance:
our covenant is given freely --
not said, nor signed, nor sealed.
It is the motion between two
that transfigures life for moments.
This was originally written in November 2003. I have long held a fascination with Leonard Cohen's lyrics and poetry and there are shades of 'So Long Marianne,' in this poem in that I felt I wanted to give the woman's side of things.