married to a memory

Reply Tue 13 Oct, 2009 01:35 am

still pouring two cups of tea, one for him and one for me.
all my joy is remembering any little thing we did together.
in those days, I used to laugh; my voice has been cut in half.
there is no reason to sing, no rhyme asking what for or whether
I can get it back again. all the virtual world's men
couldnt replace his memory; doing laundry, cooking, playing chess,
drinking rum, sharing a sweet. most of all - being complete.
more alive than reality, in fantasy we have become deathless.
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Reply Tue 13 Oct, 2009 01:01 pm
Wonderful poem! Salima, of you permit me I would like to tell a strange story here, and though it concerns a universal theme I have to go loco here in Flanders Belgium. In 1892 was published the novel "Bruges-la-Morte" by the flemish french-writing author Georges Rodenbach. Georges was very much a child of his age, sharing its weird and neuroric sensibilities, a typical representative of impressionism and symbolism. Now I wonder if many people on the Forum have an idea of Bruges? It's one of the best preserved mediaeval cities in Europe, and as such it has become a huge open air museum receiving thousands of tourists each year. The atmosphere is magical to say the least, and the city has been the theme of many novels, poems and films, one of the last being "In Bruges" with Ralph Fiennes (I'm giving the opening here). Now why am I telling all this here, usurping your poem? Because this magnificent environment is the perfect setting for Bruges-la-Morte, "Bruges-the-Death", the novel of Georges Rodenbach. It's the story of a (mad) man living in Bruges and only living for his memories and by his memories. He is a settled bourgeois and he spends his life remembering his deceased wife, whose blonde tresses lay on the piano on which she played Debussy so many times. Then one day in the silent streets he sees a woman in the distance, ressembling his wife in all points, even to her huge tresses of blonde hair. He follows her and indeed she is a real woman, but totally different in character from his deceased wife. She is an actress and she represents life, joy, pleasure, and though he enters a relationship with her she can in no way replace his wife, for whom he was looking in her likeness. The story obviously ends tragically. She enters the sacred room of his memories and plays with the tresses on the piano, and in a fit of madness he strangles her with them for her impiety, and again death has won. This astonishing novel has been translated in several languages but I doubt if any language can render the gothic beauty of the main character, the city of Bruges, more a sepulchre than a town, more a memory than stones. Memories, let's be careful with them... Sorry again for bringing this up here.

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Reply Tue 13 Oct, 2009 08:11 pm
sounds like my kind of story....would be nice to visit that place some day. i couldnt see the video of course, but maybe some day...
Reply Thu 15 Oct, 2009 03:50 pm
Very memorable, Salima, and yes, Catchabula, probably wise to be careful with our memories, as in don't forget them...
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Reply Thu 15 Oct, 2009 07:26 pm
I saw that movie. The book you mentioned reminds me a little of the movie Vertigo. I actually had vertigo one time on a fire tower in the Appalachians. The Cherokees were forced to leave the Appalachians. They call it the Trail of Tears. The trail led to Arkansas and Oklahoma. Arkansas has a quartz crystal mine. I went there one time and the ground was covered in tiny crystals like somebody broke a window. The connections go on and on.
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