Friday, November 4, 2011

The Shade

Klimt - Danae - 1907-08

The Shade

wavers silver,
shadow watching.
It wants to give. I see
the heart of the maker 
shining from its fathomed eyes 
of blue marled gold. Its thinnest of skins
is feverish hot as desert noon 
sand dry stone smooth.

What is it it needs
to give me here 
in this capsule of dream 
so badly 
as it bends me
in the cosmic wind,
past or future life or death
clings to me in a honey'd sheath
cabled tight as a rose's thorn skin.

 Flying lambent in the unseamed empyrean
  swaying harmonics of  musica universalis
propelling the blue airship of dark,
it wants me so dearly holds me 
so closely it's a matter of 
small concern that when 
I wake it will be 
gone and you 

November 2011

Image: Danae, by Gustav Klimt, oil on canvas 1907-08
via wikimedia commons


  1. I know what I like and I like this.

    You've captured Danae in shades as soft as the painting itself and in tones of musica universalis. Perfect!

  2. I love the idea you have spun in fine threads of silk and gold: that sleep holds us jealously, feeds us with dreams, and reluctantly lets us go when we awaken.

  3. First, a glorious and beautiful bit of gold and lapis lazuli, dream's Byzantium in a gorgeous pour, Hedge ... I wonder at your insomnia -- where the gates of dream are locked -- and the profusion you transcribe anyway. A lifelong victim of seizures & migraine, I learn that both are spasms of the lower brainstem, tickling the creative underworld for sure; I wonder if there's a neurological equivalent to insomnia and wild dreams ... Or perhaps its just that adage that when you listen to your dreams, their choir really ramps up. Men don't dream in color, normally (probably many of us soft-male poets do), but then they don't love the same way women do ... The last lines are perfect -- dreams are so sufficient in their own way that they need no living equivalent. For whatever dreams are, you sure sing a mighty hymn to them. Maybe that figure in the picture sleeps atop your pile of books. "Propelling the blue airship of dark," indeed; how about asking your dream it wouldn't mind calling on dark dreamless Central Florida ... - Brendan (p.s. minor edit in the first stanza, I believe your "it's" should be "its")

  4. nice...very cool hedge...i like all the colors sprinkled through out...almost as if you knew the poetics prompt...smiles. the airship line gave me pause...i like it...honeyed sheath and thorned skin works well go get some sleep...smiles...

  5. @Tug: it's good to see you around, glad you enjoyed and hope your trip and your mother-in-law's birthday went well.

    @Kerry: Thanks, yes that's a very good description of what goes on with the unconscious in dreams I think.

    @bri: Had to fish your comment out of the spam folder, man. Does blogger know something I don't? ;-) Thanks for reading.I'll be checking the prompt later.

    @B: Thanks for the sharp eye--fixed. That apostrophe S has been bedeviling me of late--indeed typos and word substitutions and misspellings in general. I hope it's not advancing senility.
    RE the recall of dreams--I do think it has something to do with recording/listening to them--once you start they become much more memorable, more present. The insomnia is so periodic, interspersed with long spells of adequate sleep, that I don't think it locks the gates--if it were constant, I'd no doubt be insane, but it comes and goes, and when in effect does seem to be a vehicle for spewing out these musings. I send the incense of the Sybil your way, but the wind has shifted back to the south, so who knows. Your conscious mind seems to be doing just fine, anyway.

  6. Beautiful writing, kiddo. As always. Love the dreamy feel of it, then the sharp awakening.

  7. First, I love the Klimt. Okay okay, I love almost any Klimt!

    This strikes me as an oddly spiritual poem for Miss I Don't Believe to have written, but perhaps I am simply reading my own beliefs into it. In any case, one has little choice but to believe in mortality, and Death certainly will whittle down the to-do list.

  8. There is gorgeous language in this blue airship. It perfectly matches what I feel from the Klimt portrait, the delicacies of blue and gold, and yes as Brendan observed, Byzantium, that gem of gold by the Bosphorus that gleams out of the hill.


"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, out of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry." ~William Butler Yeats

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