The Broken Gate
Tenderness
except in dreams
has dried up like
moon's twin-horned stream,
extinct as Australopithecus
or the seventh kithera
string
strummed by the plectrum of Astarte.
Trust mis-grunts the tongue of trolls
nor is it fluent in spirit. It
teaches forests the growl
in the chainsaw's throat,
spreads the dryads' legs,
spreads the dryads' legs,
smiles when the owl
of Athena's beheaded.
Love is a rumored magic
removed from the act,
a legend of the dead,
a plagiarism of runes
marsh-candled on bone
yet brighter in the eyes of the wild
for being lost to sight,
for being lost to sight,
light unfleshed, undressed, discarnate;
ghost-wrack on the high wind
that breaks the last gate.
~May 2016
kithera--seven-stringed musical instrument of the ancient world, ancestor of the guitar.
Above: Ruin with Head of Medusa and Landscape, 1941, Salvador Dali Fair use via wikiart.org
Below: "The original complete skull (without upper teeth and mandible) of a 2.1 million year old Australopithecus africanus specimen so-called Mrs. Ples, discovered in South Africa.Collection of the Transvaal Museum" Courtesy wikimedia commons
Love is rumored magic... that's truly sad, but maybe that's just a plagiarism of dreams. A jesters play with us.
ReplyDeleteOh no you didn't! Athena's owl! Oh man, that's hard to take. That whole stanza is. Sometimes poetry has to shock, and be in-your-face to make its point; there's no mistaking that this is one of those times.
ReplyDeleteAgree with Shay that that stanza is particularly compelling--awful to think of the dryad's legs being spread--and the owl--agh-- and love not being seen--and the extinction of so much following so much already extinguished--we don't value much till it's gone, it seems. Beautiful sound and imagery here despite the edge of violence and loss--thanks, Hedge. (I'm still really on break but saw Brendan's challenge, and then thought of something impromptu.) k.
ReplyDeleteHow can I be upset, though, when you tell me in such gorgeous, satisfying language?
ReplyDeleteI got stuck on "Love [being] a rumored magic"... At first, I didn't want that to be true, for I know love. Then I realized that it is true and it is all right. Since truth dances behind every rumor... mayhap that's where my love is.
ReplyDeleteI'm blaming my sentimentality on the meds. ;-D
'plagiarism of runes'... so much like mocking a sacred heritage...a powerful image. The kennings swing the drama way out and up into all that is universal...
ReplyDeleteLove is the rumoured magic removed from the act! This statement strikes me as astoundingly accurate. The second stanza is particularly harrowing. Everything is stripped away, and we must hang our hopes on rumours and memory of light. Powerful and unrelenting.
ReplyDeleteThank you Kerry, for phrasing it so well, and for getting it.
Deletebeautiful !
ReplyDeleteIt ain't harrowing unless it damn near kills us. Poem's truth rakes so brutally the ashes of a heart raped by death (or dying). The mythic formula for hallowing what's harrowed may be a Christian idea which has little place in the present: I just cant say, but I'm left feeling after reading this how broken the chain may be. Certainly magic without heart is a cold eternity. Yet why else wield the harrow? I wonder.
ReplyDeleteI don't believe there is anything particularly Christian about hallowing--you yourself have shown many times how St Oran and the other crafty, mystic madmen of early Christianity stole everything from their forebears, including the idea of sacrifice, rebirth and making holy lore of the pointless depredations of the gods(or a god) to teach us what we would be better off not knowing. Loss and change are as old as Australopithecus, and not Jesus's personal property, nor any grace in the place this poem explores, the wasteland to which it has brought us.
DeleteTrust mis-grunts the tongue of trolls
ReplyDeleteLove this line!
Tenderness, trust, love...all of these are ephemeral, echoing only in rumors. You really separate spirit from flesh here, Joy. An interesting emotional journal! Hard hitting and incisive (as they used to say about the news). Great idea and fine execution.
ReplyDeleteMarvelous!
ReplyDeleteAn enchantment of mythology and real life questions. Nice write
ReplyDeletehallowed is her name
much love...
Very blunt and hard, despite the lyrical quality to the words. At first, it struck me as a love song to disillusionment. If one can discern between the true and the false, no matter how harsh the truth may be, it is the first step towards breaking the boundaries that limit us.
ReplyDeleteTrust mis-grunts the tongue of trolls
ReplyDeletehah!. I read this as Trump at first.
and yes, love is a rumored magick... ~