Sunday, July 5, 2015

Divine Comedy



Divine Comedy


 


What is said here
is true in the moment
if in itself
the moment is true.
Here before bewitchment and betrayal,
before the spell winds out
before the mind-clot bursts,
the indifferent bile seeps scouring
beyond the skein
of loops and traps; said quick
before our pages become
blackened stalks
pulled naked 
in the wind.



~July 2015



 




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Flash Fiction 55 Plus

Kerry's plus this time is to draw on either the paintings of Rossetti or the writings of Dante; I have used Rossetti's Mnemosyne, the mother of the muses, the goddess of memory,  from whom Hesiod said 'kings and poets receive their powers of authoritative speech...'  You may remember from other process notes that she possesses a pool in the underworld, which when the dead drink from it, restores every memory of past lives, being the opposite of Lethe where all such baggage is allowed to be forgotten.  
Dante contributes the title, and the poets conversing in a limboish Hell..










Images: Mnemosyne, by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Dante;Hell;IVth Canto, Homer and the Ancient Poets, by William Blake 
Public Domain via wikimedia commons

22 comments:

  1. You are so ambitious, always, even in a 55 word piece. I can almost feel the wind blow in this one, howling down some secret break, and either wiping everything away, or leaving a permanent scar that stays forever. That ending is superb.

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  2. What is said here
    is true in the moment
    if in itself
    the moment is true.......... said quick
    before our pages become
    blackened stalks
    pulled naked
    in the wind.

    This is inspired.

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  3. indifferent bile, blackened stalks, strong phrases and a well written scary poem

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  4. Do we ever find anything in those muses. You went so deep into this, and I think you ended up in limbo just like me and Kerry.. Maybe that where we will meet some day.

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  5. This is superb! Beautifully executed :D

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  6. Your images are so strong (mind clot bursting)! After reading your poem, I don't know which is worse: remembering or forgetting. Very chilling.

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  7. If in itself the moment is true. Profound!

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  8. That's some moment. Thanks for the process notes too, I forgot (ha, pun unintended) about the pool of remembering.

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  9. Hey Joy--I could not connect this so much to memory as to acts of creation--the poets at work--the beginning idea is quite wonderful because an expression of the moment does depend so much on the integrity of the moment--one thinks of how something is called to mind--context--and how art can actually be used in quite terrible ways when its "moment" is not true--Leni Reifenstahl comes to mind--but, of course, there are many--though frankly, I think most really great art finds what is true in its moment and that is why it is so compelling maybe--I really like the end here especially--that sense of urgency--it all fits together so well with your title--the comedy that any of it will last longer than its moment--or, as you say so well, transcend it. Really interesting poem; and as always tight and vivid. k.

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  10. Just before that mind-clot... ack, don't make me recall!

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  11. The first four lines . . . wow!

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  12. You created an effective backdrop here with your choice of artwork. There is a intensity to your word choice and I love the notion of the poet contemplating his work, before the ink runs dry

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  13. Superb images, I thoroughly enjoyed reading this.

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  14. The opening gambit really lays the foundation and is the key to this. Truth. What is it? Is it overarching or is it in the moment? Is it still true tomorrow? Is it still true once we experience something that shakes our world view and the lens which we use to process everything. Perhaps the divine comedy is in the desire to make sense of it all, you know.

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  15. This is a very intriguing poem, asking so many questions, beginning with: What is a true moment? How do we know it and see it before we can say it? I want to say that all of our saying is a divine comedy of sorts, and the true moment, always there, is always waiting to be glimpsed and said.

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  16. This puts me in mine of the many times someone has said, "We only fall in love once." I've never believe that, for as this poem suggests, "What is said here/is true in the moment/if in itself/the moment is true." I think many of us have had many moments of truly falling... A bit wild, but who can help the places the brain chooses to visit?

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  17. "What is said here
    is true in the moment
    if in itself
    the moment is true"

    There are some things google can't answer. I am always amazed by the art of your mind.

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  18. I'm bringing my Dante to this, that there is no divine comedy before love, no "bewtichment and betrayal" without the first vernal purity, no woods to stray into in media res without a taste of the waters that will eventually drive us to the Lethean thirst. No Virgil without sweet Bea; why else write but to name that which first flushed the heart free? For that Dante was willing to endure the nine circles, and then, poetically worse, purgatory and then, ugh, worst of all, feathered paradise. The imageries of death -- the clots and bile and eventual black-burnt pages -- are so dark and wild as to question whether those few simple words were worth it, but what else arewegonnado? Dante's sin was that he loved, and he wrote; circumnavigation of the dark heart was small price to pay for that. Anyway, your meditation inspires gusty responses. What finer work is there than to make writers write?

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    Replies
    1. And what other work is there for Memory, the mother of the muses? For everything that we write in blood on our blackening pages that burn up as fast as we burn comes from that well where we remember, not as a self-indulgence, but as a terrible discipline, our past lives and the moments within them that have some significance, some flavor strong enough to carry over the miasmic taste of those waters to say itself again, to define the moment that was true in itself. Thanks for getting the circular reasoning here, B, and for your kind words.

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  19. I've been ruminating of late that "our" most hallowed truisms are but conventions, deeply ingrained. For instance - 'cleanliness is next to godliness'. is it really? what have we forgotten about dirt, so that Monsanto et al thrive as the soil withers and dies? if we drink from Mnemosyne's pool, will we come to realize the true authors of the blackened pages?

    such a powerful, compact pen, H ~

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    Replies
    1. Thanks, M. So little that is said is actually truthful--we just have difficulty recognizing it--why we need art, I guess, because money just makes people lie harder.

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