Month: Jan 2016
So now I take my leave from blue and sun
(to make my home in biting wind and snow).
Their work upon my soul has now been done;
but they are not enough for me to grow.
For art must have an edge to be of note
so one can fall and break some bones and bleed.
But when that ‘edge’ with ease I sugarcoat,
withdrawal of the Muse is guaranteed.
BEING IN THE PROCESS OF A GOODBYE (as I am right now) — in spite of the sadness and loss which many associate with that process — is actually not such a shabby place to be. Sure, it means leaving something(s) and people behind; but that is just one aspect of it — a minor aspect, if I may say so. To take that sole aspect as if it was the sum total of the experience is not only a misinterpretation of “Goodbye” but it is also an impoverishment of the experience, if seen in its broader context.
Have you seen my rose? said I, with strangled
vocal chords — my pleadingness distorted
by the criss-cross patterned veil which dangled
down around my face, my vision thwarted.
Why give me eyes and voice then hide my rose
behind a shrouded whisperful disguise
I never asked to wear? But no one knows
and none can tell me where my flower lies.
Only music makes me breathe more so than
any body-weaving skinsome love or
other form of nature pain relief.
Without the frequency of sound abounding
round the chambers of my aural sensitivity
I wilt and lose my verdant leaves —
my fronds turn dirty brown,
my shoots for quavers grieve,
my sap no more will bleed,
my roots will no more feed down
through the beauty-bounty broken ground
to home themselves in cleansing earth and clay.
Only music makes my blues and multibruises go away.