As this posts, dear readers, we will be somewhere in the wilds of Oklahoma, hiking with the dogs through a strange, season-less landscape hung between summer and winter, with warm sun and cold cold winds. And no internet. Hope that all who celebrate it enjoy Thanksgiving, and also this flashback from August 2013 which I've exhumed for your interim diversion. See you soon, and thanks again to everyone for your support.
The Farewell Book
"..High above the mast the moon
Rides clear of her mind and the waves make a refrain
Of this: that the snake has shed its skin upon
The floor. Go on through the darkness. The waves fly back.."
Rides clear of her mind and the waves make a refrain
Of this: that the snake has shed its skin upon
The floor. Go on through the darkness. The waves fly back.."
~Wallace Stevens
I always keep the Book of
Order
close by my chaos bed, my flag
at the masthead of longing, where
the brush of a half-numb hand upon
its sleeping lover's cover lets me think
I'm not alone.
The Book has first and
last page
but only a hole in the
center, infinite,
secret, full of talismans,
gauds and baubles,
wrack and whatnots, bones and
blood,
astrolabes and artifacts of
someone else's life that is
my own.
I sang out the genius from
the cavity;
a wild shadow marked with your
name.
I found for you the kiss long lost
in the dusty centrifuge, and made
the sickle wand that was
all the moon on a stick.
all the moon on a stick.
There atop the crease
you were born to lie,
to slither up and slide
your bendable spine into
the hammock of that crescent,
to
murmur with flickering tongue
divine
the language of mind to mind,
but when at last I put
my feet to the morning's board,
I felt only the pricking
crackle of
a skin shed on the
floor.
Still I go on, a lunatic singing apart
flying waves of darkness, hook'd
on a used moon and a hollow book.
on a used moon and a hollow book.
~August 2013
originally posted for real toads
Challenge: Fireblossom Friday:
the book within the story within the poem
Fireblossom asks us to think of matryoshkas, to pick a favorite poem and nest it in a story (see above link for a more coherent exposition.)
I've chosen not one but two of my favorite poems by Wallace Stevens to nest here, using various words and phrases from:
Fireblossom asks us to think of matryoshkas, to pick a favorite poem and nest it in a story (see above link for a more coherent exposition.)
I've chosen not one but two of my favorite poems by Wallace Stevens to nest here, using various words and phrases from:
(text)
Photo © joyannjones 2013
