Sun 10 May, 2009 07:58 pm
i think pain brings out the best and the worst in all of us. but for poetry, even when overcome with joy there is an element of sadness-it can never be completely forgotten because it is the contrast between the two that makes them discernible, describable.
the gardens in the city
i walk past the gardens in the city every day; the landscape's array
of harmony and texture is wasted on the mannequins scurrying by.
the wily fountain plays mind games with me; it
sprays the air with a stale taste that reminds me of tea in a styrofoam cup.
the water whispers your name and wakes me up
as it cascades in sheets over the walls of stone,
making me even more aware that i am alone.
maybe tomorrow i'll take another route; it's spring. if there's anything
i can't deal with, it's rebirth-buds bursting open like firecrackers that
celebrate the season. winter's icy overcoat
melts away; earth floods, revealing the debris underneath-a mixed stash
of cigaret butts, paper and leaves. i crash
every year about this time. i'd rather see snow
in its sterile frigidity than what's buried below.
there's a hole in the sky where the sunlight ought to be. daylight, dimmer
than the night sky, drifts aimlessly down to my head; it has no warmth,
no luster. two little sparrows become lost in their mating dance-
i remember my empty bed. i never had the chance
to get to know you; how different life would look to me
if the two of us were here. i can't help but wonder if i
might have captured your heart. time flies mercilessly by.
i wish i could be innocent again. god, please dim the lights
so i won't see the puppets' strings or the stagehands in the wings.
i want to go to work, but there's no wheels on this bus,
no backs on the buildings, no you, no us.
i looked for the cure-a shot of the hair of the dog that bites
me to prove i'm not asleep. dead is better; be that, instead.
i need to live or die. this waiting is killing me,
but not fast enough, and not completely.
i want to return to my childhood, when there were wrongs and rights,
and rules to tell me how to be, what it took to be happy.
i could dream about a prince named Zenio; we would meet
and fall in love and life would be complete.
i hope for nothing now-there is no future, just days and nights
all in a row, always the same. there's no one to thank or blame.
i can never go back. my eyes had a glimpse of what lies
beyond The Veil and now they won't shut.
i lost my place in the garden of eden; the sounds and sights
no longer occupy me. lies and truth are both compromise.
i have no more questions. all my ties, cursed or blessed,
are broken, forgotten, or laid to rest.
i think there's nothing left undone; ocean depths and heights
of mountains, boundaries of space and time each put in their place.
i am watching reruns. they can drink; i can't pretend
not to know the story, i've seen the end.
i feel sick to death of sobriety. i witness their flights
of fancy doomed to fail with no way to explain how i know.
i ache with loneliness, when mercifully my heart
remembers; i am not-only Thou art.
i guess it is a sort of graphics layout design rather than a literary thing. and i think it causes a reader to make breaks and pause at spots where he might not have thought to do so otherwise; whether that is good or bad i dont know either. but i can go back and rewrite and see what happens. maybe the line breaks are a bit juvenile, eh?
Let's try this here:
"i walk past the gardens in the city every day; the landscape's array of harmony and texture is wasted on the mannequins scurrying by. the wily fountain plays mind games with me; it sprays the air with a stale taste that reminds me of tea in a styrofoam cup. the water whispers your name and wakes me up as it cascades in sheets over the walls of stone, making me even more aware that i am alone.
I'm still maintaining that the "parlando" nature of this does not need line breaks. It's not the line breaks that make the poetry, but it's the magic of word and image. Imho it's an abused and often unnecessary technique, and often used to "save" a bad poem by making it look like a poem (mind this is not a bad poem!). Take Bible-translations, some parts of the Text are better served by line-break translation than others, and it could be interesting to see when and why. Hm can I invite you to see my blog-entry "Part of a Story"? Crazy about words here... ;-)
no catchabula, the line breaks are perfect,
time to think about it
I like the deliberate misspelling of the word 'lustre'
the rhythm is pleasantly unpredictable