Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Moon Song



Salagou by moonlight
Moon Song




The moon sang the sun out
but not for long.
You spread my hair over
fever chills like a paisley shawl.
Your tears ran down my face
a spirit veil, wet lace.
Your lips walked
from one corner of my town
to the river's edge
while your broker's eyes
asked always for 
the goods I didn’t have.

Your hands stamped
the passport of my spine,
chased silver the leaves of
dove occluded sky. Dawn placed
the rose grey seal. And so we boarded; 
one life parted from the next,
in fire, then ash, blown across
the guarded border, where
whistles shrilled and every flag blew out.
On a planet where rocks dreamed
the sun sang out the moon,
but not for long. 


~January 2013





If you'd like to hear the poem read by the author, please click below:












Image: Salagou by moonlight, by Petteri Sulonen, on flick'r
Petteri's photostream
Shared under a Creative Commons License

Thank you, Petteri,  for the use of your work, illustration and inspiration, as always.

23 comments:

  1. a bit of magic for sure hedge...really cool lines in this...the lips walking from yours to the waters edge, the passport stamp on your back (to mark he'd been there) but time to move on maybe...the rocks dreaming, the sun singing...and then the coolness of not for long...nice write...

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  2. When I finished this, I just leaned back in my chair and exhaled. From the first line to the last, this is real poetry of the best kind. The language is inspired and striking, and the emotional charge is understated but powerful, like tremors from an explosion underground. If I picked up a book some place, and this was in it, i would want to know, "Who IS this?" I won't quote a bunch of lines because the entire thing is marvelous, and besides, you wrote it; but I must single out the first two lines of the second stanza. Who thinks in those terms? Poets do. You do.

    Now I'm going to go all pedantic on yo funky azz. I wanted to know why this flows so well. So, I counted the syllables in the first stanza. They are as follows:

    6,4,6,8,6,6

    then--

    3,7,5,5,4,6.

    The first part has a base line of 6, lowering two and rising two before plateauing back. All even numbers. No shift of other than two.

    The second part shifts to odd numbers and goes lo-HIGH, then evens out, but at a slightly different length than in the first stanza. The one and only time you shift by only one syllable is when you go from 5 down to four, near the end, returning to your original pattern and ending at base level. That's why this flows so well, never becomes sing songy or tiresome, and satisfies the ear as it does. Fucking amazing.

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    1. Thank you, Shay. Your comments are always important to me. I changed a lot of this--well some--in terms of words and syllables, when I read it out loud, which I don't do enough--I think that's a process that helps the ear define and refine how the language works out in terms of sound. I do find the more I write, the more stresses and syllables have to fall into line for me to be happy. Thanks again, dear friend.

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  3. O " broker's eyes " in a perfect, beautiful and yearning Poem. "And so we boarded . . ." So sweet, and "not for long." Thank you!

    (and too, thank you for this version of "Wild Mountain Thyme")

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  4. " You spread my hair over
    fever chills like a paisley shawl.
    Your tears ran down my face
    a spirit veil, wet lace."

    yes, magic. i smiled all the way through this, it's perfect, and i have been out dancing with the moon myself...

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  5. When a poem arrives at my door - the full package - and allows me to open it and discover all that lies within I count myself thoroughly lucky in the receipt of such a gift.

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  6. This is mesmerizing! Especially remarkable, the broker's eyes, and my fave, the "dove-occluded sky". Fantastic writing!

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  7. I love the circles you've created here. The cycle of a day, the cycle of planet life (where rocks dreamed), the coming and going of human beings. really wonderful.

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  8. This one is truly lovely, Joy. A lovely movement here of moon to sun song - Agree with all the comments - transporting even without a passport on our spines - though love that idea and how the leaves of the dove occluded sky are also like leaves of that same passport - the rose grey seal - terrific.

    I also love the first stanza where there's an image of a specific people as well as moon and sun - the fever chilled, and the mourning nurse/lover (whether in a romantic sense or not = could be parent). It's amazing how the "parties" to this could be human or not, could be some of those dreaming rocks, though in the sky--

    Really beautifully done. I am not in a circumstance to listend but will. k.

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    1. Many thanks, k. You read this so well, all the passport metaphor especially. I appreciate that a lot as it encourages me to hope that I'm not writing so personally and obscurely that my meaning doesn't come through. I also like the idea of the looseness of who(or what) is speaking--I was trying not to nail things down too much in this one--and btw, your discussion about your Escape poem was somewhere in the back of my mind as I rewrote this early this morning--who we are able to escape with, how we are freed, where and why we go.

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    2. Thanks--I'm sorry that my typing has so deteriorated lately that I am not very coherent sometimes and have so many typos. I wanted to say that the boarded--border is a very wonderful homonymy type of thing there - and all the sound is of course terrific. Your work is personal but it's so good that people know that a little attention will pay off - it also pays off on the visceral level too, of course, even without parsing each line, but one knows that you are careful enough that it will parse--for all you say re looseness. I also like the flags blown out - so great with the whistles - it's like a homonym of meaning not sound - I guess synonym is the word for that, though that's not right either - what I am trying to say is that it is wonderful that the verb could apply to the whistles too, and so it works as a mental echo there--the reverberation of the whistle, as it were. The broker a bit of a custom's agent here, or maybe barterer for Lethe's passage. I may have that river wrong! (Ha.) k.

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    3. Styx? (I don't have time to look up.) Lethe is forgetfulness I think (my haunt.) k.

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    4. Lethe or Styx, maybe? I prefer the former in this context. ;_) Don't ever worry about your typing, etc. I know a lot of times you are on one of those infernal devices, where there isn't room for fingers wider than chopsticks, plus, you work way too much to come to everything fresh. I myself, with fewer excuses,typo all the time and have developed an annoying habit of always hitting the semi-colon key when I make contractions instead of the apostrophe. I *hate* that.
      That's an interesting comparison between whistle and flags--I actually was thinking as I read it out loud of a blowing out like a candle, but I see what you're saying. Thanks for reading this in such depth and with such attention,k. I appreciate it.

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    5. Typing simultaneously there--yes, Styx is the river you cross in the underworld with that creepy Charon guy, Lethe, forgetfulness.

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  9. So glad to have found you again via Brian ... Greetings from this Canadian witch ... http://catsruledogsdroole.blogspot.com/ Love, cat.

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  10. the final three lines are an exquisite ending to a stunning poem, Joy! i know you don't often use repetition, but the first two lines are so deserving of it! and i do love when you include a reading!

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    1. Thanks, dani. Appreciate you coming by and glad you liked.

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  11. Great lines...love this... Your hands stamped
    the passport of my spine...and this ... You spread my hair over
    fever chills like a paisley shawl....gorgeous! :)

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  12. Por Fin, I am here, Joy Ann. This is absolutely gorgeous, too many great lines and phrases to quote. Least I will say, it made my heart ache. Wonderful poem.

    Pamela

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  13. I wouldn't want to say what this poem "means", but it speaks to me on a level my rational mind can't quite grasp (yet, anyway). Impermanence, change, night to day to night - the inability to fix meaning - this speaks to me. And how beautifully you've written this! In your response to Fireblossom I'd say, "Yes!" This is something I try to do, and it worked very well for you here. I agree with the others who've said this is really great poetry.

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    1. Thank you very much, Mark. Coming from someone with your ability, that is an assessment, and indeed, a high compliment, I value.

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  14. Moonbat...
    Like The Doors, your poetry can NOT be sorted out by genre.
    Immortal Perfection is how I classify it.
    Sorry about the back...(((HUGS)))

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