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Thursday, 5 January 2012

World View

There was darkness
and the darkness that there was
was on the face of everything.
And there was fire.
Cold fire, blue steel fire, semblance of fire,
semblance of light, fire without promise or threat.
And figures, shadows of figures,
semblance of figures figuring
hardly at all in a huddle, huddled
round flames lacking light.

And there was God. Tongue-tied and silent,
a murmurless mummer of a God, miming creation,
re-making in mime the old misbegotten conception
of his long ago. Invisible god - except for the hands,
the hands of a weaver. Intricate movements,
balletic with grace. Weavers of space
and spinners of time on the go.
And the eyes with the hands,
two halves of a coin spun as one.

Then visible darkness. Thin darkness hung
between me and impassable darkness
passing before me like whisps in the wind.
God-produced darkness, that darkness like sin,
that lure of the eyes that sought a way in.
Between the two darknesses, dark ghosts of me
stared back, each in turn, each eyeball
to eyeball. I watched as more ghosts
behind and beside me, appeared as from nowhere,
caught between darknesses, trapped as was I.

But still those hands did mesmerise!
A chink of light when curtains just behind the vision
parted and two dolls swam into view.
Not dolls, but mummies rather, human forms
devoid of detail. As featureless as was
the landscape from the start. The hands -
and now a shadow form behind the hands -
manoeuvred them in space, arranged their limbs,
caused one to sit upon a tree stump, one to stand.
But still the scene and they were bland.
More then slid between the curtains into view,
the hands deploying them around the fire.
Some wore grass skirts, but all were onion-like
in texture and in ornament, in markings on the skin.

Yet now was light enough - though gloomy still - to see
some palm trees ranged along a sandy shore,
and out beyond an atoll there, a liner rocked at ease.
The window-dresser slid away to hide himself
against a jet black frame. (He, too was dressed in black.)
God-figure that figured to change or replace the old world
with a form reduced in aspects, focal points and facets,
having fewer of those things that man fixates upon.
The onion-form would reign supreme
in a world devoid of promise and of threat!
A caption in the ocean read : WORLD CRUISE.

But still in the window, the faces of tomorrow
and today stared back towards the sadness that was me
as I looked in... and the god-figure stayed as he was hid.

15 comments:

BragonDorn said...

That was beautiful!

maekitso said...

Fascinating; as does thoughtfulness with light and darkness bouncing off each other do when given time.

Elisabeth said...

Sounds almost biblical, Dave. Profound.

Mary said...

An amazing poem Dave. I love it, so beautifully written and I particularly liked your weaving of words by the master weaver ... very inspiring.

haricot said...

From where the space would be observed, I wonder. Long spanned and tremmendously wide view.

Mary said...

" Between the two darknesses, dark ghosts of me
stared back, each in turn, each eyeball
to eyeball. I watched as more ghosts
behind and beside me, appeared as from nowhere,
caught between darknesses, trapped as was I.
"

Much sadness within this poem, Dave. Some times in life seem like this to me too.

jabblog said...

'the sadness that was me as I looked in' - I hope the shadow lifts.

Mama Zen said...

Whoa! This is incredible!

Tommaso Gervasutti said...

I really want to reread some great poem by William Blake again after this. It brings me straight back to that tradition.
Again then a visionary pulse, mesmerising in particular in:
"a murmurless mummer of a God, miming creation". Powerful alliteration. I confirm that it's a feat that you find the energy and skill to write works like this every day.

ds said...

I could read this daily for years and still find new things in it. Very powerful, sir. Thank you.

Brian Miller said...

wow dave, your close carries the emotion for me...fantastic imagery through out...excellent piece...

Windsmoke. said...

I reckon this poem could be about the past the present and the future of mankind with the end of the world and the afterlife all rolled in to one :-).

Margo Kelly said...

Nicely done!

Dave King said...

Brago
My thanks. Great to know you think so.

maekitso
They do indeed. So much great art depends upon this. Thanks.

Elisabeth
Many thanks. It's really good to hear your thoughts on it.

Mary
Kind thoughts indeed. Greatly appreciated. Thank you so much for them.

haricot
Shop window - panaramic one, if you like! Thanks.

Mary
Fascinating what others see in works of art which the artist never dreamed were there. I didn't see the sadness or feel it as I was writing, but now you bring it to my attention, I do see what you mean. Thanks so much for this.

jabblog
As above, I wasn't actually aware of the sadness. I saw the poem more as speculation: what if? So I am particularly grateful this time round for your thoughts.

Mama Zen
Wow! I'm happy to settle for that! Much thanks.

Tommaso
I shall take it as a compliment that I have driven you back to Blake! The rest is more compliment than I could have imagined. I am much indebted to you for this and past reflections. Thank you so much. (the daily bit began as an excercise, a challenge to myself, really, to try to make my self a little more prolific - I used to be, like, one poem a decade!)

ds
And than you - so much. Really encouraging.

Brian
I am really very appreciative of this and all your thoughts. Sincere thanks.

Windsmoke
Indeed yes, and a posiible alternative to the present mankind. Thanks Windsmoke.

Margo
A warm welcome to you. Great to have your company and your comments. Thanks for both.

Ygraine said...

I do apologise if I should offend with this comment, but I found Ariadne the Weaver Goddess within your words here.
This is truly Soul-stirring stuff...