Monday, April 16, 2012

Postcard at the Beach

Postcard at the Beach




Through 
the open window
white sand shines in a naked
raked garden of dreams,
tattooed and ruled beneath the palms in
 green dream energy, aqua sea bordered in an order of light.

 Nightmares quartered and crossed
fill up the black room's cage 
dancing above that tourmaline dream, gliding wall
to wall sleepless, betraying me with
a vaguely pulsing mind
an old and brittle life

too fragile, too cumbersome, chipped
yellowed posterboard not winged postcard
enough to pass
through that beckoning slot,
mailed to the beach
with no forwarding address.

Only a peeled off scrap
[stiff lifted script of 'Wish I was there']
 pulled to that framing of light
by hooks of birdsong,
crams in sideways as shadows play
on a riffing surf, delivering

everything that's alive
outside.




April 2012




Posted for   real toads
Open Link Monday
Susie Clevenger's photography was too good to have just one, so I did an encore with her shot of The Lighthouse at Punto Sur from Sunday's Challenge and hooked up with it here. Thank you, Susie. I see why they call you Goddess.







Image: The Lighthouse at Punto Sur, by Susie Clevenger
Used with permission.

31 comments:

  1. This is heartbreaking. The sense of separation, the notion of a glimpse of honey, if you will, being worse than none at all, makes me sigh to read it.

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    1. Old age is not for wussies, dear. But I like to think the scrap gets mailed.

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  2. ugh...wish i was there as well....this is heart breaking...just outside but...the hooks of birdsong, great touch...crams in sideways...nice use of language to get across the feeling...

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  3. You fuse the dying and the living, the gray and the vibrant with such mastery. The wistfulness you illustrate is so real, so human.

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  4. love this interpretation, and the way you capture everything in the photo to make it yours wholly and completely...

    great contrast between inner/outer, perfectly summed up in

    "everything that's alive
    outside."

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  5. This is such an interesting interpretation of the photo. I love the inter-play of what is within and without, and which may be real and which the illusion. I do like the wry: Wish I was there.

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  6. Beautiful - the old and brittle life, the postcard mailed to the beach with no forwarding address. I relate, separated from my beloved beach.......fantastic writing, kiddo.

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  7. I like the metaphor that you used "chipped yellowed posterboard" and with no forwarding address. Melancholy words against the window open to white sand shines in a naked, raked garden of dreams ~

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  8. Through an open window ... wonder what it's like crawling back inside, taking another run at life, no ... I'll stay where I am and wish you were here.

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  9. I could read this over and over, Joy... and I especially love the first stanza.

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  10. nice... tourmaline dreams. that is a keeper, wow.

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  11. cool piece Hedge. Really like the subtle rhyme throughout the opening stanzas. Love the rapid nature with the stops and starts. Great piece. Thanks

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  12. And I felt gratitude for the view. At least that...

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  13. This is a Polaroid of sadness and fragility - and yet I choose to see, with that scrap of sunlight and birdsong just outside, that there is a glimmer of something more just outside the window, to be experienced and breathed in, and all it takes is a few steps and to throw open the door, to welcome in again newness and hope.

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  14. I am humbled by your interpretation of my photograph. Age makes us frail, but yet we have those memories, those postcards that were sent. This is so beautiful.

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  15. The quandary of the tourist is that s/he can never quite be where s/he travels; close -- like standing in the window of a beach hotel -- yet forbidden the full soak available only to those who live, who have their being there. Postcards from paradise are freighted with the same deception of presence, proof that isn't proof that one is where everyone else dreams to be. Carried over to the poet and the dream, words are like "yellowed poster board" compared to the "winged postcard" we are sent and sends us to the place that requires no forwarding address, which simply is, and is so delightful. Dream enough, or write enough about dreams, and the window between them becomes clear as a picture. But whaddayagonnado? We write as if to say, "wish I was there," and post these letters to ourselves. The dreamer's on the beach staring back up at the figure of the writer in the window, wondering what sort of distant lands s/he hails from ... It gets "crammed in," albeit "sideways." I'll take whatever we can get. - Brendan

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    1. Thanks for reading Brendan, and I can see how your interpretation totally fits, but in this case, the subject matter is living--the gap between the stretching future for the young on that beach of dreams and possibilities, and the no-future for the old--so, not really about writing for me, though that does come into it in the piece of lifted script--which is the poem trying to go where the body and self no longer can. And there I'm with you--I'll also take whatever I can get, or make.

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  16. No, old age is not for wusses. The choices are harder and harder as the days go on. Should I get up, should I do it? Lying on a beach in soft sand does sound grand, and the cage of the body is a nuisance to knock around in. Somewhere, I can hear the surf is playing. Oh! It's here, in your poem.

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    1. Thanks, Ruth--you've summed it up well--as the body fails, we turn to the other resources we have, and learn how they can sustain us. Maybe it takes that actual physical separation to get us there where we really need to be, living from the inside out instead of vice versa.

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  17. been enjoying the words flowing on your site this NapoMo
    hope your garden is growing as well as the poetry
    cheers

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  18. the window isn't completely shut ... and hope it never will be!

    I also see you have beautiful Dutch Iris 'Blue Pearl' in your garden. They are truly a flower that one must stop and enjoy as they don't last very long. I love when I find them growing near a pond, lake or stream in their natural habitat. I was surprised to find them their as I always thought of them as a purely ornamental yard flower.

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    1. Yes, they are shortlived, especially in the vase. I've never seen them in the wild. There's a waterloving iris that has similar blooms, also Japanese iris, though both are a bit bigger--I don't think Dutch iris are native here, but you never know when one will escape captivity--we have a lot of spring bulbs pop up in local parks that people sneak in, too. But no matter how it got there, how cool that it did! I hope you had your camera.

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    2. ..it was a purple iris. That is all I know. :). I will post it in the next few weeks and try to think up a poem for it.

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  19. This is really well done...your writing keeps me coming back again and again.

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  20. This is so vivid, you have such a unique way. I esp. liked this line, "dancing above that tourmaline dream," very magical feeling, Hedge!

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  21. I love the colors in this, and the music of it.
    K

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  22. Hi Hedge--this was a harder one for me to follow--I am interested in seeing your comments--for me, it had more to do with the postcard making one more awake to one's own present--the birdsong outside the window.

    I think the picture itself is a bit distracting to me. I am an enormous fan of Terry Pratchett, who wrote one book about wizards waltzing out through a magical window that looked something like this one (sea scape)==it is called the Last Continent. It is an immensely silly book, and so colors my view of any postcard of this type.

    I do love the idea of life being too brittle and (big) to fit through postcard slot. K.

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    1. I love Pratchett--need to read that one, but his books can be hard to find. To me that window was totally a portal to a fantasy world, (an excellent pic by Susie Clevenger) so I don't think your assessment of it is a distraction--more spot on.I had a hard time with the clarity in this one--this poem a day thing doesn't give me the leeway for revision that I prefer, but that's part of the challenge--but the whole idea of the poem is pretty much summed up in my response to Brendan above if you want it spelled out.The postcard is the poem, or the desire personified, the posterboard is the poet. Thanks for the engaged read, K.

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  23. the beach, the sea is so eternal and prompts us to float on the currents of our life, what is, what has been. the window photo by susie is a magic porthole. when i went through my midlife crisis (who knows, maybe i'm still in it:) and realized i wasn't young anymore or even close to it anymore, one of my most famous personal scenes was going to the beach and irreverently flicking the ancient sand while i had a conversation with my higher self. this reminded me of that. it was painful morning, but also very useful.

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    1. Thanks, Ed. That conversation is, I think, ongoing as we age, and start to peel away the inessential from what we are--what we *really* are--and peeling those layers is always painful, but important, necessary. And yes, ultimately fruitful. Thanks so much for all your comments today--much appreciate that you are willing to read through so much of...whatever this is. ;-)

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  24. Oh, hell. This is sad in the most scary of ways.

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