Earthbound Fish
It wants to fly
it does
or at least swim
but melancholy never made
a path to waves or sky
any more than
Escher's tessellations made
a living
school of fish. They only made
wallpaper
or a fish-dance of replicated cells
that might be somehow the
mute components
of a self-eating brain.
It needs wings
that want to be brushes,
that will refresh the distempered
canvas from black
to floating clouds.
Feathers are only clouds, after all,
air things clipped and pressed
into Icarus-wax,
so why not?
But the paint is caked and dry,
feather-breaking,
and the staggered beating
like an old heart
that stumbles itself into silence.
Meanwhile ten thousand starlings
live in their moving mosaic,
a matrix of cloud,
a canvas
of pure flight
from earthdark to light;
it wants it wants
so much
to fly.
September 2023
posted for
Images: Fish wallpaper by M.C. Escher, courtesy of Etoffe
Starling murmuration over Scotland, no attribution given. Via internet Fair Use
The fish that wants to fly, like the rest of us earthlings, the old heart stumbling itself into silence, are just so good, Hedge. I especially love that cloud of starlings, the fish looking up wanting so much to fly. Loved it.
ReplyDeleteTwo contrasting works of art, Joy, your poem delineates the differences and similarities. Fascinating and skilful! JIM
ReplyDeleteThese thefts of nature we call art are a brigand's paradise but no more, bars against the light in a a cell of self-devising. Spreading rumors of glory's murmurration. And yearning? "Melancholy never made / a path to waves or sky / any more than / Escher's tessellations made / a living /school of fish. They only made / wallpaper ..." How we confuse the superpowers of artifice with superb power of the winging yes. Sorry the challenge was confusing, I'm running out of desperate ideas.
ReplyDeleteNot at all, B. The challenges you provide are obviously the result of much effort and I am grateful for every one of them. If there is any fault in the lines of communication, it lies with the muddle-headed reader and not the author. Thanks for reading and supporting the efforts I make to continue writing.
DeleteLike the actor who wants to be a rocker or the artist who wants to be a boxer, the world is full of frustrated desires. And yet, as Emily has observed, the heart selects its own society and we're just along for the ride, holding that flaming ball of desire in our laps and being told we need to act like nothing's happening at all. It's all the harder when we see those birds swirling and turning like it's the easiest thing in the world. Sigh.
ReplyDeleteIn our attempts to make wallpaper out of nature we have become imprisoned in a world that flashes virtual signals at us constantly, those 'mute components of a self eating brain.'
ReplyDeleteI love the weaving in of Icarus and the profound reminder here, and one that nature is constantly putting up there in its own glorious neon for us to see, that all we must do is be us. Fabulous stuff.
"it wants it wants / so much / to fly." - I love that. I can feel the fish trying to school with the starlings. And maybe Escher's starlings schooling with the fish. "It needs wings / that want to be brushes" - Beautiful.
ReplyDeletethe opening lines have such cadence and rhythm, like the slow beat of wings as a bird takes off. apt, how your pen then takes flight, taking us alongside Icarus ere he falters ~
ReplyDelete