Thursday, December 24, 2015

Talking To The Corner



Talking To The Corner




Up the nowhere ladder only
to slip on the bottom hours,
to push the first reverse
abrupt turn of the key

dangling eternity
from unwinding entropy--
but still
but still

--one has only memory
against the dark, the data
of  dada that
comes dwindling in.

It's a time of closing
a trance time, a folding, a looking away
from an edge inlaid with endings
where the only beginning

is bending the limits
of the bloody art
of letting go.



~December 2015






posted for    real toads




Dada: a nihilistic artistic movement of the early 20th century in W Europe and the US, founded on principles of irrationality, incongruity, and irreverence towards accepted aesthetic criteria
~Collins British Dictionary







Photo: Tristan Tzara, 1921, by Man Ray
Fair use via wikiart.org



11 comments:

  1. Perhaps the method fits the madness, but the dance here edges between exhaustion and infinity, nihilism and artistic jihad. Perhaps extremity breeds such strange bedmates; enantiodromia's feral brood. Anyhoo, some exquisite phrases -- "Up the nowhere ladder only / to slip on the bottom hours" as insomnia's Sisyphus, memory as the frail bulwark against "the data / of dada that / comes dwindling in." And the final two stanzas metaphors so perfectly every artist's angst, wondering just what if anything is left. Sometimes a maenad's best friend is Man Ray at 3 a.m. -- hair of the frog who bit us at Real Toads. Thanks for seizing the night.

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  2. A wonderful piece, Hedge, start to finish, and as surely a work of art as those mentioned in the piece. (I am happy not to have read yours before i wrote mine, but we seem to be on point with the Man Ray today.)I love your phrase: the data of dada, and all the alliterative touches throughout. Would that the art of letting go is something we could learn at the feet of the masters.

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  3. Oh, this is sweet. In the sense of "sweeeeeet." Any poem that puts dark, data and dada together is way ahead of the rest right there. And then the "edge inlaid with endings" not only pleases the ear, but it offers a fusion of the tangible with the intangible--the very essence of poetry. You're better than a satanic mechanic from Transsexualvania! :-P

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  4. This is so very cool. Love the alliteration, and the ending is killer.

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  5. Completely loving the way you've painted such clear images of intangible thoughts. I wish I could put brush to canvas, and paint " dangling eternity/from unwinding entropy." It would show so many colors, so many shadows... and yes, all sorts of endings.

    Yum.

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  6. bending the limits
    of the bloody art
    of letting go

    It is a torture to be able to let go without emotional hang-ups. More so when it involves a loved one.

    Hank

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  7. It's interesting that one would so much rather have an eternity that led somewhere than one made up of unwinding entropy, but hard to imagine (if you think about it) a more realistic kind. The data of dada is such a great line and there are many here--I think letting go of anything (including art or a ladder) is easier at the bottom hour! But still not easy! A great pic and super interesting poem to go with it--I wish letting go were easier. Thanks. k.

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  8. Beautifully phrased, so inevitably sad.

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  9. ah, chills. perfect match to the image. my brain read "dwindling" as "swindling" - tells you which corner I've been in - but the flow, and that key repetition which to me is the pivot.

    and that final art is one with which my own hands are red, at the moment, related to the change of view you noticed on my FB post...

    thanks, Joy, for being such a fantastic writer, first, and for always taking the time to comment and unfold layers I'm not even sure I knew about, until you shine light on them. Sol Invictus, and whatever the ancients used as a greeting for the new year ~

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  10. ahhh dada. yes!

    So many great lines here, and you have an excellent natural rhythm, but what I appreciate most is how it all compliments the whole, the "edge inlaid with endings" reversing back into that dangling eternity which hangs from the nowhere ladder. and that bloody art of letting go, an ouroboric cycle if ever there was one.

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