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...
A Birthday in April ~ Wordsworth Prompt from The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (The first of three posts which will celebrate the l...
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...
Mid-morning coffee. Mesmerised, we watch the upper spikes of next door's buddleia cavorting in a kind of war dance high above our six...
Tom Lubbock, writing in The Independent (friday 15 May 2009) returned to the age old topic of censorship in the arts. Well, in painting act...
Wednesday, 10 April 2013
To the Sound of Breaking Glass...
This is the moment
that comes occasionally
or not at all:
fading into reality,
lost in the borderland
between full sleep and wakefulness.
With eyes still sleeping soundly
the ears are wide awake.
One foot in nightmare, still I stand
and listen to my other land.
The mind is stretched between the two.
The dream runs on,
a silent film,
no longer silently.
The soundtrack comes from somewhere else:
the street outside
where two men argue about... about...
but now drowned out
by children playing,
the bin men on their rounds,
the clatter of the bins,
the sound of breaking glass...
all this laid over... what?
A London bus,
the upper deck,
A Buddhist monk
immolates himself in front of me.
Protest for freedom.
Immersed in flames
he disappears from view.
A horse jumps through the flames.
Silly man, silly man, out you go!
sing the children in the street below
to further sounds of breaking glass.
Surreal. How could they know?
The Buddhist figures in my world, not theirs.
Innocence and artfulness walk hand-in-hand.
The couplet (lines 10 and 11) though in italics is not a quote, but an allusion to a Poem of similar title by Edwin Muir. You can read it here
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
That period when we are neither asleep nor awake is often such a frightening time. I wonder why it is almost always the nightmares that hang onto us that way?
Well, you do it again and again. Fabulous discription of that state.
Sounds - or are they nauseous noises, are haunting me too.
Yes, great poem, I like the strength of the Buddhist monk poetic figure in this poem interesting.
"Innocence and artfulness walk hand in hand." I like it.
Your poem captures well that time just before waking....
wow....surreal as are most dreams...that image of the monk...have seen it...and it is def one that sticks with you...love the focus on sound there in the middle as well...
How well you captured the betwix and between moment of waking. :)
Yes Dave I know that Edwin Muir poem.
It is a strange world indeed that few moments between waking and sleeping - the mind plays funny tricks.
exactly what that state between dream and wake feels like. So sharp and soft at the same time time. The outer world driving into and then driving off the dream state.
We become such palimpsests!
Such a commonplace thing, and you rendering makes it special. That moment...between dream and waking you've recreated so well. And with that crazy logic of dreams. Superb Dave.
I love that mysterious time when we can glimpse more than one World at a time - the more unpleasant visions aside, of course!
A great deal of my inspiration originates from this state between sleeping and waking, and your depiction of it here is truly amazing...so ALIVE.
The Buddhist monk really stands out...could you possibly have a past-life connection here?
Incredibly fascinating write, Dave.
I adore this! )
Yes, it does seem to be so, maybe they are the most vivid, or the most elemental.
what I find so fascinating is the way the ears wake up before the eyes. They do say that when someone is in a coma they can often hear what is being said, though all the other channels are closed down.
Thanks Leovi. Good to get your take on it.
Thanks so much for your thoughts - always welcome.
Much thanks. Strange thing: it often occurs to me that the mix is surreal, even whils I am asleep/awake experiencing it.
Thanks Jinksy. It's a difficult moment to get across, even though I guess we have all experienced it.
The Weaver of Grass
A wonderful poem. At one time I committed it to memory. Pretty sure I couldn't reproduce it all now, though.
Excellently put! Wish I'd thought of it, but thanks!
Another excellent analogy. Thanks very much for.
Yes crazy logic fits it very well, I think. Thanks for the kind words.
Wow! There's a suggestion that hadn't occurred to me! What if...? As always, great to get your thoughts on it. Thank you so much.
Post a Comment