Thursday, June 11, 2015

Cave Light



Cave Light




Darkness is safety
when the eye won't shut;
what can be seen
in the dark warm
where pillars of salt
turn ebony and
 the far sound 
of ocean licks
at time's feet?
Without fail
 I see two
you
myself
the 
twisting meet 
of  stalactite 
and 
stalagmite;
the fallen
also raising
a bridge from 
dissolution,
conduit and 
collapse 
columned, fused, 
shadows in the light 
at cave-mouth that sends us
its  own soft arms as we span
the rock room and shelter night.




~June 2015













posted for     real toads









Challenge: Caverns of Thoughts

Corey Rowley (herotomost, at Mexican Radio, and  recently published author of On Hunter's Wash ) takes us spelunking in the caverns of the mind, our quest to report back on what we see. This was a quick and spontaneous write, so thanks, Corey, and all my patient readers for putting up with whatever happens when there is not the usual excruciating editing process.















Images: Cave Dwellings Near Sperlinga Sicily, 1933, by M.C. Escher
Magic Grotto, 1942  by Remedios Varo
Fair use via wikiart.org




21 comments:

  1. Really nice extrapolation on the stalagtites and -mites. From the dissolution to their creation, reaching out to meet each other from floor to ceiling. Falling and rising coming together. Its really cool, and you infuse it with meaning. I used to go caving a lot when younger (and stupider) and probably some of the more fearful times were when the lights started to fade, knowing that you had to do pitch black and open it up to put more batteries in. On the other hand, there were times we went pitch black on purpose and just stood there, eyes open (seeing nothing) and hearing forever.

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  2. The sound of the ocean licks at time's feet.. quite an interesting analogy :)
    Loved this poem :D

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  3. Beautifully done, Hedge. I love the lines about looking out into the warm dark......and the light that "sends us its own soft arms".......it sounds like a safe and friendly cave.

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  4. The point where the fallen and risen meet.. to me that is where life really exist.. in that drop of water clinging, in the gap between. Somehow in that darkness we are safe.. I think you have described the waiting warmth well.. almost see myself reborn afterwards.

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  5. I really liked how your poem flowed inventing and then reinventing itself. Also, I enjoyed the outer shape of it--reminded me of some stone formations I have seen while deep inside a cave

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  6. Delicious sound play and images Hedge!

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  7. Ah. I just now realized this is a "shaped" poem. I will forgive you for that since it is so clever and beautiful. I love the lack of punctuation -- well, thanks for the question mark but the lesser punctuation between the you and the myself as it definitely adds to the fusion. But that first question is so lovely really-- what can be seen or felt when we step a bit back from the shape of its contours due to darkness so that what is suffering-- pillars of salt-- and that's really an example of the opposite transmogrification-- where the bright light of a deity changes a person to salt-- here the darkness seems to give the balm of distance-- the pillar of salt becomes just more solid darkness in the face of dark's timelessness-- and everything that was melted is not melded. Certainly a huge expanse of time or vision does that and you are allowing darkness a kind of infinity. Ha! How's that for waxing poetic-- forgive me I am on the train and phone, but to allow natural darkness to balm suffering and separation is quite lovely. I don't know if in the face of it I could feel that way but like the idea-- K. Ps now we are going through a tunnel so I just hope the darkness doesn't melr my comment!

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  8. Ah, your shape! Drip drip drip.

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  9. I love the concrete aspect to your poem, the shape being that of the cave formations. However, being slightly claustrophobic, this will not be going into my file of favorite Hedgewitch poems, not for any lack of skill on your part, but for excess of anxiety on mine. My ultimate nightmare is to be stranded in an elevator or an underground cave or something.

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  10. The poem enters its thought or theme as one enters a cave, from the outsides, with an outsider's view -- asking, what can be seen? And is answered, ever, always, with the union or communion of the myth, reaching out and being received like stalactite to stalagmite. The "rock room" is the "shelter night," a happy place to go to when the eye can't shut. Wondrous consolations here.

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    Replies
    1. Thanks, B. This one just fell in my lap, as you know they sometimes do, the minute I closed my eyes and imagined....that velvet black---though being alone in an actual cave in total darkness would probably give me the full blown heebie-jeebies. Loved your shamanistic spree.

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  11. that sends us
    its own soft arms as we span
    the rock room and shelter night

    Classic ending Joy! It completes the picture of a the complementary stalactites and stalagmites pairing together naturally! Great lines Ma'am!

    Hank

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  12. You are like Snapple...made from the best stuff on earth! Shaped perfectly, the two unmoving dancers meeting in the middle and fused for almost ever, as you enjoy our exhibit, please don't touch the stalagmites...great writing Joy!

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  13. I love what you did here, Hedge, from meets function seamlessly. I especially like the bridge of words that joined both halves to make the whole.

    Without fail
    I see two
    you
    myself
    the
    twisting meet
    of stalactite
    and
    stalagmite

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  14. The reaching up, the reaching down and the comfort of the healing (?) that results in the middle. Or at least that's where my mind went. I too like the concrete image.

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  15. I too like the form of your poem reinforcing it's content.

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  16. This edited itself just fine. Really smooth with a disarming delicacy, Hedge.

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  17. Beautiful. But you already know this.

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  18. Coming back for a visit--I can't help but see this as a poem of insomnia and the sweetness of some acceptance of the night under those circumstances. I did not note it in earlier comment, but I like very much the way the "meet" is laden with meaning--also like the "mete" of the column, and some sort of race run too--and something about stalagmite works so well here-- you know my brain is overly porous, I sometimes think, but I can't help but hearing echoes of "I wish I may, I wish I might, " which I think relates to star wishing--and hear something of stellar in both stalactite and stalagmite (though more in stalactite.) STalag-mite-has that stalag aspect--which is not inappropriate either--for an insomniac. I am sure you will say I am inserting layers here but I think that all those resonances are in word combinations we choose whether one is conscious of them or not--k. (hope you are having a good day, I am back in midtown manhattan.)

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  19. I love that your poem gives such a positive view of the dark... Most will equate darkness with fear--I wonder how they can manage to forget that the seed won't sprout in the light... and the glory of mushrooms... or the ease of a migraine.

    Your descriptive poems always take me to the place where they are set.

    Love this.

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  20. I would that your candelabra could light the dark, Joy ~

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