Chimera
When I left all I asked was peace
of the starry void, that
every shrewish hope be finally silent
yet after me you sent one white bird
only marsh cloud singing,
too soft, too frail to fly far.
I dreamed of you last night--
did you call me?
No, it was just my broken eyes
wanting to see the old calligraphy
strong and alive on the blank page but
that will never be again.
You were dream's pale clerk
troubled, frowning at the paper
on which many things were written
none of them my name.
I stood by your shoulder;
you turned, walking through me.
Waking, I couldn't say
if you or I was the ghost.
The gift of sleep
is taken back and I sit staring
at the perforated day, at walls falling
in this helpless place of the dead
where I've washed up
already chewed by the chimera
stung by the manticore,
wondering what white wings will come
out of the siren darkness,
what ghost bird is left.
June 2012
Posted for Poetics at dverse poets pub
Karin Gustafson is hosting today and asks us to voyage away from the known and explore the theme of exile.
If you would like to hear the poem read by the author, click below:
Image: Chimera, by Gustave Moreau, 1884, watercolor
Public domain, via wikipaintings.org
my broken eyes
ReplyDeletewanting to see the old calligraphy...great line...and none of them my name....also the waking and not knowing which is the ghost is a great touch as well hedge...
nice emotional current through it as well....
this felt a bit like losing oneself or not sure anymore where and how one exactly is...like lines that wash away and can't be seen clearly anymore..the walking through you or vice versa...the things written on paper but the name missing...reminded me of the film where the girl in the film flight plan disappears in the plane and they want to convince the mother her daughter was never with her on that plane..
ReplyDelete"You were dream's pale clerk
ReplyDeletetroubled, frowning at the paper
on which many things were written
none of them my name.
I stood by your shoulder;
you turned, walking through me."
Do I ever like that stanza. It's one of those you toss out there from time to time just to make me feel like an ape holding a broken pencil upside down and calling myself a poet!
This suits the stated theme of "exile" ideally.
This is really incredibly powerful. It creates that mood of sinister events that pull me into your sadness. The power here comes from the images that are so unearthly and breathtaking that for the time during which the I read the poem it's transformed. Wonderful.
ReplyDeleteWonderful poem; the type of exile I'd like to have written of - exile even from Lethe. Well done. k.
ReplyDeleteAmazing piece... I just love this part:
ReplyDeleteYou were dream's pale clerk
troubled, frowning at the paper
on which many things were written
none of them my name.
I stood by your shoulder;
you turned, walking through me.
Waking, I couldn't say
ReplyDeleteif you or I was the ghost.
The gift of sleep
is taken back and I sit staring
at the perforated day, at walls falling
in this helpless place of the dead
Clever twist in the journey, Joy! We are brought though time and wondering what it can be and where! The lingering thoughts make it great!
Hank
Very much enjoyed reading this and love the line "staring at the perforated day" !
ReplyDeleteOne great line after anothe rin this one. Powerful, intense, and a pleasure to read.
ReplyDeleteOh my, this made me sigh. Your reading of it added all the more to the effect. One time during a poetry critique session, we discussed how eventually a poet develops a distinct voice, and how that's a sign of poetic prowess. When I first clicked on your link, something else distracted me, so that I returned to read, not certain of whose blog I was on. Your voice rang through loud and clear. This is one of my favorites of yours, hedge.
ReplyDeleteYou were dreams pale clerk...I couldn't say if you or I were the ghost... Some really ethereal tones in here that made this so beautiful for me x
ReplyDeleteThe third stanza is also my favorite ~ Great writing Hedge and I enjoyed listening to your soft voice ~
ReplyDeleteThis is haunting with an ethereal feeling...I love this part a lot:
ReplyDelete"You were dream's pale clerk
troubled, frowning at the paper
on which many things were written
none of them my name."
Excellent as always, Hedge!! :)
Beautiful words, lines, almost other worldly! And love your reading, too.
ReplyDeleteNo, it was just my broken eyes
ReplyDeletewanting to see the old calligraphy
strong and alive on the blank page
This is the passage above all the others in this fine poem that really grabbed me.
Yep, like it
ReplyDelete"The gift of sleep
ReplyDeleteis taken back and I sit staring
at the perforated day, at walls falling
in this helpless place of the dead
"where I've washed up"
And already fooled by a puff of cloud bird and eaten by two beasts, and now expecting white wings at any moment! What left could torment her/him in this endless wakefulness where she/he sits with broken eyes?
"When I left all I asked was peace
of the starry void, that
every shrewish hope be finally silent . . . ."
Your voice is softly resigned, as are the words. Is this exiled being a chimera itself? It could be that story, I guess--but in not knowing I think of self exile and fear. Powerful.
death dying and loss seem to be themes in your writing, and you express these conditions/ideas very well, great insights, and as always, no words wasted. also, i have really enjoyed hearing you read your poems, im a strong believer in poetry as spoken art... nice to see that tradition continue.
ReplyDeleteThanks, wood. I'm glad you enjoy the readings--still a lot of bugs to work out, but hey, it's free software so what can I say? Do you ever read your own work--I'm not normally an audio-oriented reader, but I would think your style would suit spoken word down to the ground. Appreciate the visit.
Deleteyou really pull out the fragile beauty of lonely here. a beautiful, beautiful piece.
ReplyDeleteThis took my breath away. Wow...
ReplyDeleteI am running out of superlatives for your work but absolutely none of my enthusiasm for it. I do so want to leave gifts each time for the gifts you give us, your readers.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful, breathtaking even.
ReplyDeletei was going to say this is my new favorite of your poems.... and then i listened to your reading... exquisite, my dear hedge!
ReplyDelete♥
I know this feeling. For me it can only be caused by old lovers, maybe because that emptiness is bigger than any other and the wounds sting a little more than any other.
ReplyDeleteI often wonder how you manage to make such beauty out of pain and darkness; this poem is such a lush example of your skill. The opening lines, and then of each stanza, really draw me in. The direct voice, beautiful language, and melancholy tone are just so satisfying. That word "manticore" is fabulous, one I didn't know, and is balanced perfectly by "white wings" and "siren darkness." Wonderful!
ReplyDelete"that
ReplyDeleteevery shrewish hope be finally silent"
Oh, how I feel that!