Emptied of light
draws upon its own resources
yet soothing somehow, reassuring
shaped so long ago
perhaps in dream
or nightmare, meanings lost or changed now,
put to other uses.
They have the character
of poems from another tongue
trying out our language.
But it's the lightness
the ease, that's unexpected,
as if the socket, like an empty picture house
and by some kind of back-projection
still tries to entertain
to keep the balls in play.
We never closed it seems to say
all strays are welcome to the play.
It's sufficiently diverting
to keep my fears at bay.
And so I watch as through a soldier's night-sight
it's just the drape across my face that stains the whole world green;
that the sky
its clouds like shadows of itself,
the hills that split apart as easily as melting icebergs;
the sun, distinctive in its yellowness,
too bright to hold in focus
inching ever nearer;
and my slow drift to blindness
or an unimaginable light:
that none of this amounts to threat or menace.
Indeed, there is a rainbow
hovering above the sun
behind green falling snow.
No suspicion of the pain I was expecting
but there was pain awhile ago.
Long and thin and for a moment only
aiming at the brain but stopping short.
The main thing is, of course:
it's going well,
I know it from the chat
horses boyfriends sex and curly kale for breakfast
I hear it just above the sound of water
a fierce tide running
swirl and slap of surf and sea and echoing
within the cave that, sighted once...
is sighted once again.
My sojourn world of logic
torn away the eyes
flooded now with light out of kilter with each other
and with the world as I have long supposed it:
face and features oddly angled
force and fabric
at odds with one another.
The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
extract from the poem Koi by John Burnside All afternoon we've wandered from the pool to alpine beds and roses ...
Hello everyone who follows David King (My Father). On behalf of the family this post is to let you know that Dad sadly passed away, peacefu...
It all depends, you see, how you go about it. And that I cannot tell you, for that will be dictated by you and by you knowing your friends...
This post has in a sense been handed to me by two or three responses to my post On not getting it. In the course of discussing how a reader...
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
I like the layout of this poem, the way it exemplifies the last stanza perfectly.
My favourite line:
of poems from another tongue
Very nice cadence here, Dave.
Thanks for your visit to my blog, Dave!! :) What a way you have with words - I admire that!! Especially poetry, which has always eluded me... Warm greetings from Savannah! Silke
There is so much depth in this poem, as you weave your way through it with words. Am I right in perceiving you were writing about the experience of having cataract surgery...reliving thoughts as it was happening? I remember something similar when I had toe surgery..sights, sounds, discussions, while they were working away on my toe!
My sister is having cataract surgery in a few weeks .... this poem is a must for her to read.
I had imagined an afternoon doze in a hammock, with maybe a towel thrown over the face for shade, eavesdropping on the family conversations from the front porch. Lovely all the same, surgery or nap.
What beautiful poetry!....whether it is photography or poetry, light is the significant fiber that intertwines us all...I love this, thanks for sharing, Linda
I'm enjoying the gaps and your experimentation with form.
This is beautiful on the page, Dave. I love where it takes me. Your work makes me think. I'm happy to have found you.
No great words Dave, that's just a beautiful piece of writing.
Thanks a lot for the commentt. Good feedback.
Thanks David. Much appreciate that.
Hi and a warm welcome to my blog. Thanks for visiting and for stopping by to comment.
You are right, yes. I had two operations a couple of years apart. They were somewhat different as I experienced them. The poem owes something to each of them. It was inpart composed during the first and then modified during the second, but it was some time before I wrote anything down. Then I promptly forgot about it - and recently came across it. Almost a "found" poem at that stage!
Hi. Thanks for visiting. Really good to have you with us. That is a lovely thing to say. I am really touched. Hope evrything goes swimmingly well for your sister.
Yup, could have been either. Just happened to be surgery. The gossipping of the surgical team buoyed me up no end. It told me that nothing was going amis.
Thanks for those kind words and a warm welcome to you. Good to have you along.
I'm very pleased. You are quite right, of course: it is experiment, and I don't know how long it will last, but at the moment, I, too am enjoying it. Thanks for the observation.
And it is really good to have your comments. They are much appreciated.
Thems great words!! Thank you for them.
I will put again my poem "eyelines" in the blog to converse with this haunting one of yours.
You have mede me contemplate upon the numerous ways in which people see, and how each new manner of seeing can bring a different perspective. MAkes me think though briefly of Quantum Theory. And I echo the first respondent ... I too appreciate the "layout." Then I got a great laugh at "curly kale."
Very enjoyable indeed :-).
Dave, I like how you're now working with a different form. It works quite well with this poem, as I read it I noticed my eyes in motion, cool.
beautiful and dynamic imagery.
beautiful and dynamic imagery.
Aloha from Waikiki
Absolutely. I llike the idea of poems doing a bit of social networking.
Good to have you commenting Liz. I enjoyed reading your remarks and, yes, I too had an (inward) laugh at the curly kale, though it did do much to reassure at the time.
Good to know you enjoyed it. Thanks for the feedback.
That's most interesting. Thanks for coming back to me with it. Very useful feedback indeed.
Many thanks for the response. Much appreciated.
Always great to hear from you.
love the soft conceptual world
and the shift to the real
Post a Comment