Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Nereid

Brookgreen Gardens Sculpture10


 Nereid




She came to me
because with bell book and candle
she was cast out, alone
with her wand of basil and stars.
She stroked my hand, wrapped me round
in words of a tongue I could not speak.
She stood naked before me
hairless and smooth as bone
an offering I had no use for
and I was sad for her wildness
that could find no home on this earth
except in the fretful dreams of
the starving.




October 3,2011







 Image: Nereid, Berthold Nebel (1889 - 1964) Photo: Doug Coldwell, via Wikimedia Commons

10 comments:

  1. Welcome to "Fireblossom" on Biography?

    (and people say I always think it's all about me. Where do they get this stuff?)

    back to play with the otters...

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  2. This is going to stay with me awhile, it speaks with an undercurrent that tows.

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  3. She must be in the dreams of millions.

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  4. whew...nice write...sad for her wildness that could find no home...only coming to the starving...guess she hasa busy job....

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  5. Once again, a shocking revelation in the last line. Every bit of this is wide and lush, even in its spareness and hunger, crying in naked grief. So strong, this language: bell book and candle . . . basil and stars . . . hairless and smooth as bone. You reign supreme in these dream-speak expressions.

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  6. ..in the dreams of the starving.. conjures a dish of immense beauty.

    Hank

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  7. Thanks all. much appreciate your thoughts on this one.

    @FB: She certainly had your soulfullness--beyond that, not for me to say.

    @Ruth: Thanks for the wordsmith's eye. and your spot-on take.

    @brian: no rest for the so-called wicked, eh?

    Comments are now enabled so lets start over.

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  8. Remarkable poem. "I was sad for her wildness" is just a beautiful line.

    Speaking of Bell, Book, and Candle, I gatherk you must know the old Kim Novak movie... if so, you will be delighted to know that we have a cat named Pyewacket! She came to our yard almost 12 years ago to play with our boisterous Old English Sheepdog puppy, and never left. She is a tortoiseshell, very pretty, and I began calling her "Fancy." She refused to accept the name. Finally, I asked her one day if she would choose to be called "Pyewacket" and the shape of her eyes changed into an expression that I could only read as Finally, she gets it.

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  9. @Lydia: Thanks. yes, that was a favorite movie of mine growing up--I suppose that's fairly obvious. ;-) And there is no better name for a certain kind of cat.I know sometimes we are a sad trial to our animals, so slow to catch on.

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  10. What a beautiful photo that is....certainly worthy of contemplation.

    Thank you so much for dropping by The Storialist...happy to meet you (through lovely Fireblossom, no?).

    (And Wallace Stevens is SO GOOD! I just noticed you quoted him in the comment box--right on!)

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'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg