AS YOU GO
god - what a curious fancy
you are as you fill your
arms with night’s breath
and balk at the barking
dog star’s bite and skip to
the songs of woodsy sprites
I want to follow you
I want to tell you that
you make me laugh and cry
but I cannot form words
in my mouth of stone
nor move in this pull
of air around me
23 comments:
Achingly lovely....
Linda
Words are not the only way of communication.
Welcome back, MOM!
This one is filled with happiness, longing, heartache. I agree with walking man, being a person that tries to experience life through all the senses (like my mother)
Beautiful, Mom...
"and balk at the barking dog star's bite" is well, perfect.
welcome back we have missed you so
The contrast of the speaker's situation with the carefree "fancy" of the creator is heartbreakingly lovely.
So glad to see you back here.
Welcome back, Kaye! I missed you. :-)
And with what striking images you've returned... words and picture... Thank you!
there is one more star in the sky tonight. welcome back!
i am also struck with the contrast between the stanzas - in both situation, as karen said, and in language - the dreamlike and infinite, and then the conscious and mortal. there is an ache in it, and an awe, and it seems that it's a combination of the two that has kind of ground the speaker to a halt.
"god" (as opposed to "God") is also interesting - in that it may be god/creator or god/what one worships - which may or may not be the same thing, person to person - but it made me think of what we tend to "fancy" when our words and our will are exhausted.
beautiful!
Linda - always appreciated, friend
WM - how right you are
TWC - thanks! well...you were here this summer. you experienced much of the 阴 (yin yang)first hand - and now, all is gone to seed and we are back in our "normal roles" again. the loss of freedom is palpable.
"...how can we measure what's been lost?"
Anonymous - how sweet. thank you, more than i can say.
Hey Karen - thank you, dear friend. no divinity intended. "god" here is used as an expletive(exclamation). instead, the person I speak to, is an amalgamation of all the family members who came to our house in the woods to stay the summer. it was a crazy summer with good and bad. you know what it is like when you have to say goodbye. i was loathe to see them go, as walt would put it.
Vesper - i have missed you, as well. thanks for always being a staunch follower of my work. xo
Joaquin - how lovely a welcome.
yes, all the felicity of summer with a unfortunate measure of heartache thrown in - adds up to that dreamlike 1st stanza. here, summer is not just about swimming and cooking out and playing hard all day long - it's about fairy balls and performing shakespeare's plays - poetry readings in the yard - and just resting on the grass talking about life. it's hard to say goodbye to all of that.
i like the way you put that, "when our words and our will are exhausted." yes, and the "god" here is not devine, rather - it is used as an expletive...an exclamation.
the second stanza refers to how hard it is to see them leave - after weeks of being together. many thanks to you, friend.
Maybe you'll be pulled along, and don't have to ask.
I hope you've been well.
Jason - perhaps.... Thank you, I am very well.
You have made my evening by returning. "...nor move in this pull of air around me" is a melody that I will carry into my dreams to learn the meaning of. Welcome back, my dear friend.
Dear K. It's good to have you back. Missed you all summer.
You're poem emphasizes the ache you felt as you parted from all that is dear to you. but also shows the joy you had while it lasted.
Just lovely!
Welcome back! It is so good to see you again, Kaye! You have been greatly missed around these parts, and now things feel just right.
What a beautiful poem you have here, and it is perfectly fitting for the end of summer. There are so many lines that I love. I agree that "balk at the barking dog star's bite" is perfect. I also love the mouth of stone, and the ending just turns me inside out (in a good way). Excellent!
Hi Rick, How very sweet - so happy to be with you again. xo
Margaret, thanks for that sincere welcome. I have missed you, too. I'll be over for a visit very soon. I appreciate your favorable commentary on the poem. Glad you discerned the joy. ;)
Hey Julie, I appreciate your rousing words of welcome and your kind coments on the poetry. So good to be back, after a long absence. Thanks!
K, I clicked through from Rick's blog and what a marvelous find!!! Your blog speaks to me. We are kindred spirits. :D
What a beautiful photo and your writing holds great imagery.
Have a super day!!!
JJ
Yay, you're back! And in fine form as always! So good to read your work again, Kaye... welcome back!... now get to writing, lol.
JJ - I'm happy you stopped by and glad you found something here that you can relate to - I hope you'll visit again soon. Thanks so much for the nice comments.
Hello, Bob - lol! Yeah, I know, right? Gotta get writing. Well, fall is upon us and the autumnal muses are powerful. (hopefully) Many thanks for the welcome back and for your valued friendship.
What a glorious, glorious mouthful of words. Okay, I'm going back to read it again now.
It's the second stanza, most of all, that has me in its power.
Welcome back! Glad to see your words once more. :)
Hi Rachel - Thanks for the double visit and great comments. I have to say I am partial to the second stanza, too.
Joseph - it is good to be back. I still feel that I don't have the time I need for this...but, we'll see. Thanks so much!
Hello K. Here's more from that night:
He sat down at the counter and ordered coffee, his wiry hair was colored a mix of charcoal and cement dust, and it maned his shoulders like a wild animal clinging to his head. Every eye in the restaurant was locked on this rough hewn man who lay his book on the table, withdrew a pencil from his pocket like a mariner retrieving his sexton, and, with a exhausted sigh, began to write.
I could see his profile from where I sat, and I was transfixed by its strength. The corners of his eye were wrinkled with hardship and his eyebrows jutted out from his face like a ledge. He wrote slowly, pressing hard on his square-tipped pencil, as though each word were being pressed in a clay tablet.
My manuscript spread before me on the table seemed suddenly inadequate with its 12 point New York Times font. It was printed on 20 lb. paper, and each paragraph was properly left hand justified.
Glancing over at the man sitting at the counter, I saw a single tear slip down his weather beaten cheek.
I glanced down at what I had typed and tried to remember if I had ever cried over one of my manuscripts, and looked away in shame when I realized that I had not.
Well, Rick, I can certainly think of many things in our present world that would bring Walt Whitman to tears. Maybe, he wasn't crying over what he had written, but what he had witnessed. Thanks!
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