Running by Winterlight
Midnight called me up from my rifled bed
where I’d searched in vain for sleep’s last hiding place.
I went out to look at the fraying brindled clouds
taped to the far ice moon, and the Hunter's sword
once Freya’s distaff weaving the ravelled world.
And I knew beyond my doubt your soul ran free
parkoured from star to star canopied above me.
I saw the aching dumbshow of what’s past,
a flickering stereopticon of days
each one still a sharpness of blinding glass
a flickering stereopticon of days
each one still a sharpness of blinding glass
stuck in time’s deep gut the bleeding pass of
a dance above oblivion’s shifting cracks.
Light of my heart, you make a fine traceur;
a dance above oblivion’s shifting cracks.
Light of my heart, you make a fine traceur;
one slip's enough to kill, yet you endure.
Clouds cry ice, sweep in the shaking void
Clouds cry ice, sweep in the shaking void
with its black mouth wide, its bone white lich’s grin.
I’ve made myself so small, so fine a dust
that plaited baleen will never seine me out,
just lose me where the cell-shed seeds sprout green.
What's lost flies out and floats on seven winds.
What’s left puts down its root to live again.
February 2012
Posted for OpenLinkNight at dVerse Poets Pub
Brian Miller is our host tonight. Come join us at the Pub for a night of poetry sharing lasting through Wednesday at midnight.
Optional Musical Accompaniment
Posted for OpenLinkNight at dVerse Poets Pub
Brian Miller is our host tonight. Come join us at the Pub for a night of poetry sharing lasting through Wednesday at midnight.
Process notes: Parkour...is a training method which focuses on rational movement [where] the focus is to move around obstacles with speed and efficiency...to move through the..environment by vaulting, rolling, running, climbing and jumping. Parkour practitioners are known as traceurs.~wikipedia
The last lines of the first stanza refer to the constellation of Orion, a Hunter in Greek mythology whose belt of three stars holds the Orion nebula, representing the point of Orion's sword, and in Norse mythology, the distaff (a spinning tool) of Freya, goddess of love, beauty, fertility, war and death.
Optional Musical Accompaniment
This is so beautiful:
ReplyDeleteAnd I knew beyond my doubt your soul ran free
parkoured from star to star canopied above me. ....... I am fascinated by parkour and have had several dreams of doing it myself.
You have such vast knowledge, hedge, and your poetry is often almost as instructional as it is pure art. I always appreciate your footnotes to further understanding. Still, with this one, I wish I could know more about the mystery behind it.
To run a bit more by winterlight, go HERE. Before beginning, click on the white left arrow at top left to open a full screen. Click on the red bar that says "Start imagining" (as if you need any such prompt ever!) and move your cursor in the dark space.....
Thanks, Lydia--wow, that is one trippy link--goes well with the Page/Plant psychedelica.
Deletesome really wicked flow....blinding glass, bleeding pass...and you use such cool words traceur/pakour and stereopticon....goodness...a lexiconian delicacy...smart, but not making me feel dumb....
ReplyDeleteThat ending is just so deeply sad, even though it ends on a note of rebirth. To feel so diminished just seems to me that it would be like dying. As the philosopher Joplin once asked, why does love got to be like a ball and chain?
ReplyDeleteJeeez... How brilliant are these town lines among many an image carved in ice:
ReplyDeleteI’ve made myself so small, so fine a dust
that plaited baleen will never seine me out..
I went back and read the couplets on their own to enjoy the poem within the poem. I love how you tie atmosphere to emotion.
I love the vastness of this.
ReplyDeleteJust a teeny tiny Krill, free to move about the vast nothingness.
ReplyDeleteThats so lonely Hedge...
(I think I see Bjork on one of those ice flows.)
Your use of language is so ambitious but works, sharp-edged, precise, and so colorful and suggestive. I especially like:
ReplyDeleteAnd I knew beyond my doubt your soul ran free
parkoured from star to star canopied above me.
Ending couplet too, and stereopticon.
The form feels Petrarchan, Spenserian? (Byron?) I don't have a clue--and please let me know--lovely how you bend it to your will. k.
Thanks K--no form I'm aware of, though I think I did write it in a pretty close to iambic meter. I like using couplets as little interjections, and find I like them best if they rhyme. Other than that, nothing intentional. Glad you enjoyed.
DeleteClouds cry ice, sweep in the shaking void
ReplyDeletewith its black mouth wide, its bone white lich’s grin.
I’ve made myself so small, so fine a dust
that plaited baleen will never seine me out,
just lose me where the cell-shed seeds sprout green.... just fell in love with that stanza and great closure as well...great flow to it as well...
winter themed meditations always stir a specific and seductive melancholy. colds cry ice... yea i liked that.
ReplyDeleteHedge, you always grab me by your words, hypnotize me, and take me to someplace so different, so ethereal, i don't want to return.
ReplyDeleteYou are a wordsmith unlike I have ever read before. Something so universal, but also so damn unique, so dark/underground/in another dimension, you make my brain cry with the beauty of your 'places'.
I felt like I was flying on those clouds cry ice....
Jane
Great poem. I learned several new words. ;-) !
ReplyDeleteCold and thrilling from the start. What a journey — and to a conclusion that feels so right.
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed Led Zeppelin too, thank you.
You bring me in gently then challenge my vocabulary. Thanks for the cliff notes on that. You leave me small and sad but ready to start over.
ReplyDeleteThose last two lines may be the most poignant I've ever read. (Walloped all the snark right outta me!)
ReplyDeleteThanks for the compliment, Timo--I know that's quite an achievement, too. Hope the Zep helped lighten the mood.
DeleteThat's pretty great right there.
ReplyDeleteFlow, rhythm and imagery. Hit all three perfectly.
"Hippie backsliding." Preach, sister girl!
ReplyDeleteI love the language throughout this. I find the first stanza just incredible in its imagery and the mood it creates.
Captivating and breathtaking. Beautiful flow of words. Especially like last two lines:
ReplyDelete"...What's lost flies out and floats on seven winds.
What’s left puts down its root to live again."
Lovely!
this is quite stunning hedge - oblivion's shifting cracks - phew
ReplyDeletenow thats a line right there - as a romantic insomniac i'm kinda one over all round. some pretty special writing here H... a bit of a keeper me thinks - hows the tendons? i'm in the same boat and this god damn arctic blast aint helping my shit niether - i'm moving to Cali :)
As usual, you have raised the bar with your poetry offering. I especially like the first 7 lines.
ReplyDeletehttp://lkkolp.wordpress.com/2012/02/07/granted-constitutional-rights/
Beautiful poem, Joy. Those closing lines are gorgeous. The pic is perfect for this poem, very nice work.
ReplyDeletePamela
Clouds cry ice, sweep in the shaking void
ReplyDeletewith its black mouth wide, its bone white lich’s grin.
I’ve made myself so small, so fine a dust
that plaited baleen will never seine me out,
just lose me where the cell-shed seeds sprout green. -- this was transforming, hedgewitch. Just loved this whole poem. Beautiful writing.
It's always as though you're giving a master class in this wordsmith stuff. There is nothing but genius here and a laboratory for learning of skills I never knew nor would have known. Now I want to see the film Jump, London - and find these words somewhat magical especially in relation to your poem: "être fort pour être utile" - be brave to be useful. Your work is forever brave!
ReplyDeleteWonderful word weave that sent me to the dictionary...those last two lines are a knock out "What's lost flies out and floats on seven winds. What’s left puts down its root to live again." ..just fabulous.
ReplyDeleteHope all's well with you *hugs* :)
Always beautiful writing here. The end felt so sad to me.
ReplyDeleteYou had me at the 1st line, hedge. And what a word, brindled. well there are so many beautiful words here; you really knocked me out with this one. (And I needed a dictionary, but that's okay. :-)
ReplyDeleteThanks, Ruth. I wasn't trying to strut my vocabulary, but let's face it, it's a hazard of the trade. ;-) I have this great add on from firefox (called QuikWiki) that lets me highlight and look up words without leaving the page--it's great, since I need a dictionary a lot myself. I actually learned the word 'brindled' as a kid reading dog books--it's a common breed description. Thanks so much for reading and commenting.
Deletethe poem enchanted me completely before i read your explanations, Joy. upon re-reading it, it touched me even more. the final stanza is stunning!
ReplyDeleteand thanks for the Zeppelin! ♥
Any time, dani. Glad you liked it.
Deleteyour poetry is so rich with language, imagery, mysticism and mythology. It warms me like sitting next to a fireplace on a cold winter night. (not that I have a fireplace but if I did...)
ReplyDeleteStunning beauty in these images. I appreciate your progress notes (and, sometimes, my dictionary). I love having my mind stretched.
ReplyDeleteYou write with such precision and compassion... human heat in a glacial universe. I enjoyed the whole immensely.
ReplyDeleteHedge, this is an amazing write. Love the way you infuse a variety of subject matter in to your themes so seamlessly, mythology is dear to me and I love the references. This line is awesome, absolutely love it,just lose me where the cell-shed seeds sprout green.
ReplyDeleteEnjoyed this haunting piece…the ache is palpable as is the resolve to begin anew.
ReplyDeleteLots to love about this poem.
These two lines really stand out to me—
stuck in time’s deep gut the bleeding pass of
a dance above oblivion’s shifting cracks.
Beautifully penned.
i think you are better off with more common words. that's just me. that's how i was trained and so i try to apply it to everyone. forgive me. i like this piece. it read like a journey or voyage thrown in motion when she went out to look at the clouds and the far ice moon.
ReplyDeleteI understand, and I've had people gripe at me before about it--the truth is, I'm never going to sound like Bukowski or Collins, it's just not my style, it would be phony for me to try to. I don't mind if not everybody cares to invest the time to read and understand my stuff, it's understandable, and it's a free universe. To me, words are there to be used, each one is a storehouse of meaning, and interesting and useful in its own self. They fascinate me--the sound, the intricacy, the way they color a thought with their individuality. I try not to make my meaning so dependent on obscure terms that the poem can't be understood without knowing what they mean, and when one is uncommon but important, I try to include the definition to save people straining their brains. ;-) but I understand that the bare bones-everyone must get it style is what's prevalent now, and no problems if others prefer that route. Everybody has to find the way that works for them. I'm not showboating or trying to show off--I talk like this, I think like this and I write like this--my curse, but it's mine and like my wrinkles, I'm not stressing about it. :P Thanks for your thoughts, Ed and for reading despite the difficulties.
DeleteAlways enjoy mythic poetry.
ReplyDeleteYour words always move me... so powerful, visceral... you are as much a goddess as fair Freya... the way you wield your wonderful magic... your gift every bit as beautiful and spell-binding
ReplyDeleteI know you use the Norse myths, but the feel of this is so strong that I hear an ancient Norse skald singing and saying the words. Your use of the less recognizable words adds an element of mystery to something whose passionate desire seeps into our pores. This has a very magical quality which comes through the rhythms and rhymes, I think. In some ways, I could see this as part of a play, much like Yeats did with Cuchulain and Emir.
ReplyDeleteA piece about longing and loss that manages to find redemption and beauty in the loss. Many people have pointed out the ending as an aphorism thet's easy to love, and there are many other beautiful lines in this poem - but for me, the pinnacle are these two lines:
ReplyDelete"I’ve made myself so small, so fine a dust
that plaited baleen will never seine me out"
It may have be only a small piece of your puzzle, but its meaning is evident even without an understanding of all the words, and its musicality is undeniable.
Thanks, Sam. As always you pick up on what's in between the lines.
Deletethe rhyme you carry in this is stunning, I read aloud over and over and am in awe with how beautifully this carries. As it settles into my thoughts it continues to unfold. Powerful write my friend, send you all my best ~ Rose
ReplyDeleteThere isn't any other praise that I can add that hasn't been given already other than "awesome as always".
ReplyDeleteTo your response to Ed: I wish my curse was a curse such as yours! You state very well how you feel about words and my thoughts run as such also, except I'm not as nice as you by including definitions to save their brains. :)
Thanks, TUG. Good to see you back around. Everyone has their own style, and I really enjoy the differences. (I love the way you can condense and write pithy, intelligent short pieces, for instance.) We're all going to the same place, even if we use different forms of transportation. ;-)
DeleteI like it and the reference to seven I use a lot too
ReplyDeleteSo rarely am I jealous another's talent, and despite my best attempts to resist the impulse to wish I written someone else's words, how can I succeed when faced with lines like these?
ReplyDelete"I saw the aching dumbshow of what’s past,
a flickering stereopticon of days
each one still a sharpness of blinding glass
stuck in time’s deep gut the bleeding pass of
a dance above oblivion’s shifting cracks."
Reading your poems is for me, always a mixture of admiration and just the slightest drop of envy.
This, as usual, is insightful and truly accomplished.
Everyone has a cross to bear -- our history and its miseries, the freight of age, the sore shoulder or bum knee (I've got a neck vertebrae that seems to be wearing out), bad bowels, migraines, insomnia ... Yet on those crosses we weave our songs, perhaps because of those crosses, transmuting history into mystery. Remember Philomela whose tongue was cut out to keep her from blabbing about her rape, and she transformed eventually into a songbird. The speaker here deprived (again, again) finds weird solace in a brutal winter's night, weaving a word-spell to charm the ever-vanished-present paramour back into the the scene, observation become transformation, a cuppa tay for a sore and weary heart. The richness of the words and their strangeness help you achieve an inward sweet strangeness you could not have found otherwise. Poetry is for heightened (and yes, dirtier) speech; never apologize for the accomplished cookery. People die, I think, for not getting beyond the first draft of transformation. Cheers, friend, - Brendan
ReplyDeleteThanks B. Appreciate you stopping by during your hiatus.As always, you get to the marrow of the harrow.
Delete'your soul ran free
ReplyDeleteparkoured from star to star canopied above me' - these lines really got me into your skylit and deeply mythic poem. and then those clouds crying ice. i can really feel it. your works are treasures. thanks for sharing them.