Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Running by Winterlight

Running by Winterlight



Midnight called me up from my rifled bed
where I’d searched in vain for sleep’s last hiding place.
I went out to look at the fraying brindled clouds
taped to the far ice moon, and the Hunter's sword
once Freya’s distaff weaving the ravelled world.

And I knew beyond my doubt your soul ran free
parkoured from star to star canopied above me.

I saw the aching dumbshow of what’s past, 
a flickering stereopticon of days 
each one still a sharpness of blinding glass
stuck in time’s deep gut the bleeding pass of 
a dance above oblivion’s shifting cracks.

Light of my heart, you make a fine traceur;
one slip's enough to kill, yet you endure. 

Clouds cry ice, sweep in the shaking void
with its black mouth wide, its bone white lich’s grin.
I’ve made myself so small, so fine a dust
that plaited baleen will never seine me out,
just lose me where the cell-shed seeds sprout green. 

What's lost flies out and floats on seven winds.
What’s left puts down its root to live again.






February 2012



Posted for   OpenLinkNight   at dVerse Poets Pub
Brian Miller is our host tonight. Come join us at the Pub for a night of poetry sharing lasting through Wednesday at midnight.


Process notes: Parkour...is a training method which focuses on rational movement [where] the focus is to move around obstacles with speed and efficiency...to move through the..environment by vaulting, rolling, running, climbing and jumping. Parkour practitioners are known as traceurs.~wikipedia
The last lines of the first stanza refer to the constellation of Orion, a Hunter in Greek mythology whose belt of three stars holds the Orion nebula, representing the point of Orion's sword, and in Norse mythology, the distaff (a spinning tool) of Freya, goddess of love, beauty, fertility, war and death.


Optional Musical Accompaniment





51 comments:

  1. This is so beautiful:
    And I knew beyond my doubt your soul ran free
    parkoured from star to star canopied above me.
    ....... I am fascinated by parkour and have had several dreams of doing it myself.

    You have such vast knowledge, hedge, and your poetry is often almost as instructional as it is pure art. I always appreciate your footnotes to further understanding. Still, with this one, I wish I could know more about the mystery behind it.

    To run a bit more by winterlight, go HERE. Before beginning, click on the white left arrow at top left to open a full screen. Click on the red bar that says "Start imagining" (as if you need any such prompt ever!) and move your cursor in the dark space.....

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks, Lydia--wow, that is one trippy link--goes well with the Page/Plant psychedelica.

      Delete
  2. some really wicked flow....blinding glass, bleeding pass...and you use such cool words traceur/pakour and stereopticon....goodness...a lexiconian delicacy...smart, but not making me feel dumb....

    ReplyDelete
  3. That ending is just so deeply sad, even though it ends on a note of rebirth. To feel so diminished just seems to me that it would be like dying. As the philosopher Joplin once asked, why does love got to be like a ball and chain?

    ReplyDelete
  4. Jeeez... How brilliant are these town lines among many an image carved in ice:
    I’ve made myself so small, so fine a dust
    that plaited baleen will never seine me out..

    I went back and read the couplets on their own to enjoy the poem within the poem. I love how you tie atmosphere to emotion.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Just a teeny tiny Krill, free to move about the vast nothingness.
    Thats so lonely Hedge...

    (I think I see Bjork on one of those ice flows.)

    ReplyDelete
  6. Your use of language is so ambitious but works, sharp-edged, precise, and so colorful and suggestive. I especially like:

    And I knew beyond my doubt your soul ran free
    parkoured from star to star canopied above me.

    Ending couplet too, and stereopticon.

    The form feels Petrarchan, Spenserian? (Byron?) I don't have a clue--and please let me know--lovely how you bend it to your will. k.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks K--no form I'm aware of, though I think I did write it in a pretty close to iambic meter. I like using couplets as little interjections, and find I like them best if they rhyme. Other than that, nothing intentional. Glad you enjoyed.

      Delete
  7. Clouds cry ice, sweep in the shaking void
    with its black mouth wide, its bone white lich’s grin.
    I’ve made myself so small, so fine a dust
    that plaited baleen will never seine me out,
    just lose me where the cell-shed seeds sprout green.... just fell in love with that stanza and great closure as well...great flow to it as well...

    ReplyDelete
  8. winter themed meditations always stir a specific and seductive melancholy. colds cry ice... yea i liked that.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Hedge, you always grab me by your words, hypnotize me, and take me to someplace so different, so ethereal, i don't want to return.

    You are a wordsmith unlike I have ever read before. Something so universal, but also so damn unique, so dark/underground/in another dimension, you make my brain cry with the beauty of your 'places'.

    I felt like I was flying on those clouds cry ice....

    Jane

    ReplyDelete
  10. Great poem. I learned several new words. ;-) !

    ReplyDelete
  11. Cold and thrilling from the start. What a journey — and to a conclusion that feels so right.

    I enjoyed Led Zeppelin too, thank you.

    ReplyDelete
  12. You bring me in gently then challenge my vocabulary. Thanks for the cliff notes on that. You leave me small and sad but ready to start over.

    ReplyDelete
  13. Those last two lines may be the most poignant I've ever read. (Walloped all the snark right outta me!)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks for the compliment, Timo--I know that's quite an achievement, too. Hope the Zep helped lighten the mood.

      Delete
  14. That's pretty great right there.

    Flow, rhythm and imagery. Hit all three perfectly.

    ReplyDelete
  15. "Hippie backsliding." Preach, sister girl!

    I love the language throughout this. I find the first stanza just incredible in its imagery and the mood it creates.

    ReplyDelete
  16. Captivating and breathtaking. Beautiful flow of words. Especially like last two lines:
    "...What's lost flies out and floats on seven winds.
    What’s left puts down its root to live again."
    Lovely!

    ReplyDelete
  17. this is quite stunning hedge - oblivion's shifting cracks - phew
    now thats a line right there - as a romantic insomniac i'm kinda one over all round. some pretty special writing here H... a bit of a keeper me thinks - hows the tendons? i'm in the same boat and this god damn arctic blast aint helping my shit niether - i'm moving to Cali :)

    ReplyDelete
  18. As usual, you have raised the bar with your poetry offering. I especially like the first 7 lines.

    http://lkkolp.wordpress.com/2012/02/07/granted-constitutional-rights/

    ReplyDelete
  19. Beautiful poem, Joy. Those closing lines are gorgeous. The pic is perfect for this poem, very nice work.

    Pamela

    ReplyDelete
  20. Clouds cry ice, sweep in the shaking void
    with its black mouth wide, its bone white lich’s grin.
    I’ve made myself so small, so fine a dust
    that plaited baleen will never seine me out,
    just lose me where the cell-shed seeds sprout green. -- this was transforming, hedgewitch. Just loved this whole poem. Beautiful writing.

    ReplyDelete
  21. It's always as though you're giving a master class in this wordsmith stuff. There is nothing but genius here and a laboratory for learning of skills I never knew nor would have known. Now I want to see the film Jump, London - and find these words somewhat magical especially in relation to your poem: "être fort pour être utile" - be brave to be useful. Your work is forever brave!

    ReplyDelete
  22. Wonderful word weave that sent me to the dictionary...those last two lines are a knock out "What's lost flies out and floats on seven winds. What’s left puts down its root to live again." ..just fabulous.

    Hope all's well with you *hugs* :)

    ReplyDelete
  23. Always beautiful writing here. The end felt so sad to me.

    ReplyDelete
  24. You had me at the 1st line, hedge. And what a word, brindled. well there are so many beautiful words here; you really knocked me out with this one. (And I needed a dictionary, but that's okay. :-)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks, Ruth. I wasn't trying to strut my vocabulary, but let's face it, it's a hazard of the trade. ;-) I have this great add on from firefox (called QuikWiki) that lets me highlight and look up words without leaving the page--it's great, since I need a dictionary a lot myself. I actually learned the word 'brindled' as a kid reading dog books--it's a common breed description. Thanks so much for reading and commenting.

      Delete
  25. the poem enchanted me completely before i read your explanations, Joy. upon re-reading it, it touched me even more. the final stanza is stunning!

    and thanks for the Zeppelin! ♥

    ReplyDelete
  26. your poetry is so rich with language, imagery, mysticism and mythology. It warms me like sitting next to a fireplace on a cold winter night. (not that I have a fireplace but if I did...)

    ReplyDelete
  27. Stunning beauty in these images. I appreciate your progress notes (and, sometimes, my dictionary). I love having my mind stretched.

    ReplyDelete
  28. You write with such precision and compassion... human heat in a glacial universe. I enjoyed the whole immensely.

    ReplyDelete
  29. Hedge, this is an amazing write. Love the way you infuse a variety of subject matter in to your themes so seamlessly, mythology is dear to me and I love the references. This line is awesome, absolutely love it,just lose me where the cell-shed seeds sprout green.

    ReplyDelete
  30. Enjoyed this haunting piece…the ache is palpable as is the resolve to begin anew.

    Lots to love about this poem.

    These two lines really stand out to me—

    stuck in time’s deep gut the bleeding pass of
    a dance above oblivion’s shifting cracks.

    Beautifully penned.

    ReplyDelete
  31. i think you are better off with more common words. that's just me. that's how i was trained and so i try to apply it to everyone. forgive me. i like this piece. it read like a journey or voyage thrown in motion when she went out to look at the clouds and the far ice moon.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I understand, and I've had people gripe at me before about it--the truth is, I'm never going to sound like Bukowski or Collins, it's just not my style, it would be phony for me to try to. I don't mind if not everybody cares to invest the time to read and understand my stuff, it's understandable, and it's a free universe. To me, words are there to be used, each one is a storehouse of meaning, and interesting and useful in its own self. They fascinate me--the sound, the intricacy, the way they color a thought with their individuality. I try not to make my meaning so dependent on obscure terms that the poem can't be understood without knowing what they mean, and when one is uncommon but important, I try to include the definition to save people straining their brains. ;-) but I understand that the bare bones-everyone must get it style is what's prevalent now, and no problems if others prefer that route. Everybody has to find the way that works for them. I'm not showboating or trying to show off--I talk like this, I think like this and I write like this--my curse, but it's mine and like my wrinkles, I'm not stressing about it. :P Thanks for your thoughts, Ed and for reading despite the difficulties.

      Delete
  32. Your words always move me... so powerful, visceral... you are as much a goddess as fair Freya... the way you wield your wonderful magic... your gift every bit as beautiful and spell-binding

    ReplyDelete
  33. I know you use the Norse myths, but the feel of this is so strong that I hear an ancient Norse skald singing and saying the words. Your use of the less recognizable words adds an element of mystery to something whose passionate desire seeps into our pores. This has a very magical quality which comes through the rhythms and rhymes, I think. In some ways, I could see this as part of a play, much like Yeats did with Cuchulain and Emir.

    ReplyDelete
  34. A piece about longing and loss that manages to find redemption and beauty in the loss. Many people have pointed out the ending as an aphorism thet's easy to love, and there are many other beautiful lines in this poem - but for me, the pinnacle are these two lines:

    "I’ve made myself so small, so fine a dust
    that plaited baleen will never seine me out"

    It may have be only a small piece of your puzzle, but its meaning is evident even without an understanding of all the words, and its musicality is undeniable.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks, Sam. As always you pick up on what's in between the lines.

      Delete
  35. the rhyme you carry in this is stunning, I read aloud over and over and am in awe with how beautifully this carries. As it settles into my thoughts it continues to unfold. Powerful write my friend, send you all my best ~ Rose

    ReplyDelete
  36. There isn't any other praise that I can add that hasn't been given already other than "awesome as always".

    To your response to Ed: I wish my curse was a curse such as yours! You state very well how you feel about words and my thoughts run as such also, except I'm not as nice as you by including definitions to save their brains. :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks, TUG. Good to see you back around. Everyone has their own style, and I really enjoy the differences. (I love the way you can condense and write pithy, intelligent short pieces, for instance.) We're all going to the same place, even if we use different forms of transportation. ;-)

      Delete
  37. I like it and the reference to seven I use a lot too

    ReplyDelete
  38. So rarely am I jealous another's talent, and despite my best attempts to resist the impulse to wish I written someone else's words, how can I succeed when faced with lines like these?

    "I saw the aching dumbshow of what’s past,
    a flickering stereopticon of days
    each one still a sharpness of blinding glass
    stuck in time’s deep gut the bleeding pass of
    a dance above oblivion’s shifting cracks."

    Reading your poems is for me, always a mixture of admiration and just the slightest drop of envy.

    This, as usual, is insightful and truly accomplished.

    ReplyDelete
  39. Everyone has a cross to bear -- our history and its miseries, the freight of age, the sore shoulder or bum knee (I've got a neck vertebrae that seems to be wearing out), bad bowels, migraines, insomnia ... Yet on those crosses we weave our songs, perhaps because of those crosses, transmuting history into mystery. Remember Philomela whose tongue was cut out to keep her from blabbing about her rape, and she transformed eventually into a songbird. The speaker here deprived (again, again) finds weird solace in a brutal winter's night, weaving a word-spell to charm the ever-vanished-present paramour back into the the scene, observation become transformation, a cuppa tay for a sore and weary heart. The richness of the words and their strangeness help you achieve an inward sweet strangeness you could not have found otherwise. Poetry is for heightened (and yes, dirtier) speech; never apologize for the accomplished cookery. People die, I think, for not getting beyond the first draft of transformation. Cheers, friend, - Brendan

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks B. Appreciate you stopping by during your hiatus.As always, you get to the marrow of the harrow.

      Delete
  40. 'your soul ran free
    parkoured from star to star canopied above me' - these lines really got me into your skylit and deeply mythic poem. and then those clouds crying ice. i can really feel it. your works are treasures. thanks for sharing them.

    ReplyDelete

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