for Karina Dubisky
DEPARTURE
It is light, the
Filament coined to fasten. A lithe
Filament coined to fasten. A lithe
Wiring, fingertip to fingertip.
Wrist-wrapped, wander-worn. It is dirty,
Flung across a winter, a summer. Repeat.
Repeat, repeat.
The calendars are molding. There is
Damp wood and needles, interest
Repeat, repeat.
The calendars are molding. There is
Damp wood and needles, interest
Accrued under our feet.
Around the hipbone, like a rogue
Brooch. Not a dragging, but
Floundering steps, from downtown
Around the hipbone, like a rogue
Brooch. Not a dragging, but
Floundering steps, from downtown
Lot to parking garage.
I am a telephone pole, and
The men don't sleep, they must,
They must extend the cable. Invading
The hypothesis. They must encroach.
Such a secondhand ligament.
But it is far from thinning and
Far from sagging. It often fools me.
Me fools me. The wagging water
In the desert that snaps back to
Land. A remarkable wrecking, with my
Medulla chaining me before saucer
I am a telephone pole, and
The men don't sleep, they must,
They must extend the cable. Invading
The hypothesis. They must encroach.
Such a secondhand ligament.
But it is far from thinning and
Far from sagging. It often fools me.
Me fools me. The wagging water
In the desert that snaps back to
Land. A remarkable wrecking, with my
Medulla chaining me before saucer
Eyes and all that's not mine, the
Procession paralyzed. Monkeys
In the middle of swing. I do not know
Procession paralyzed. Monkeys
In the middle of swing. I do not know
If my mouth is full of sand.
I cannot specify what is lounging
On my tongue. An emptiness? A
Mark of miles? But my face is salted, clearly labeled.
Heart hands wrung out every sparkle
In preparation. We are not grunting in
Gasped galleries. We are not drowned
In that yellow light yet. But, God, we could be.
DaVinci's dinner is not for us. No, we
Chose a cardboard table instead, with
An atmosphere defined by an inch of
Glass, blocked.
Epoxy and a cat. The sweep
Above your lash.
This is a manual. This is how to end
A pinch of the whole. What number is
It for you? How lengthy is the summation
I cannot specify what is lounging
On my tongue. An emptiness? A
Mark of miles? But my face is salted, clearly labeled.
Heart hands wrung out every sparkle
In preparation. We are not grunting in
Gasped galleries. We are not drowned
In that yellow light yet. But, God, we could be.
DaVinci's dinner is not for us. No, we
Chose a cardboard table instead, with
An atmosphere defined by an inch of
Glass, blocked.
Epoxy and a cat. The sweep
Above your lash.
This is a manual. This is how to end
A pinch of the whole. What number is
It for you? How lengthy is the summation
Of your type-written role?
It meets the morgue; we cry, but
Now it is renewed. A screaming signature
So the undone seconds of an
Intermission are redone. And we are
Back to number one.
O umbilicus, do not let the knot fly
Through. It is two, it is two. The cord
Will be galvanized ─ our bellies
Withdrew. Mutual permission to
Gird them in steel. A flattening
In the field. The porch, the dark parlor
It meets the morgue; we cry, but
Now it is renewed. A screaming signature
So the undone seconds of an
Intermission are redone. And we are
Back to number one.
O umbilicus, do not let the knot fly
Through. It is two, it is two. The cord
Will be galvanized ─ our bellies
Withdrew. Mutual permission to
Gird them in steel. A flattening
In the field. The porch, the dark parlor
Now taped off. A terminus
For pilgrimage. A million Meccas.
For pilgrimage. A million Meccas.
Shrines noisy with the
Parroting of you.
I love you, I love you.
Your flat bleats it's siren song. A
Melody of manipulation, of maturation,
And in the harmony is a promise.
A future wine-kiss. A madam, a
Tarot table. A surplus of this,
Of this, of this.Parroting of you.
I love you, I love you.
Your flat bleats it's siren song. A
Melody of manipulation, of maturation,
And in the harmony is a promise.
A future wine-kiss. A madam, a
Tarot table. A surplus of this,
© 2014 BENJAMIN SMITH
some really cool images...some startling...and i like how you make some critical leaps...walking the lot to the parking...and you the pole (unmoving)...interesting contrast....the authority of this being a manual...and that section stood out to me in this...cool piece...wont claim to understand it all, but i think most in relations to the title...
ReplyDeleteThank you for reading. I'm glad you noticed the leaps, which are meant to mark not only jumps in time but in chapters of life. Yes, again I shroud everything with personal references (I'm actually writing a letter to the young woman this is for as an explanation, as she has requested).
Deletebeautiful... its a poignant peice with some stunning imagery!!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Arushi! I'd like to think that imagery is one of the most fortifying and explanatory (while being rather vague regarding specifics) components of poetry. :)
Deletewow... what a firework of tight images... def. capture those departure emotions...
ReplyDeleteThank you, Claudia! I was a bit hesitant to link this, as I was unsure as to if it did, indeed, encapsulate the feelings involved with a loved one departing.
DeleteI especially got a shocking image our of the epoxy and the cat..
ReplyDeleteIf it helps to ease the shock, the words are not used in a literal sense :P
DeleteThis is incredible poetry. You should be very proud of this work. I'm so pleased to have encountered you.
ReplyDeleteI love this part:
"DaVinci's dinner is not for us. No, we
Chose a cardboard table instead, with
An atmosphere defined by an inch of
Glass, blocked.
Epoxy and a cat. The sweep
Above your lash."
And this: "Wrist-wrapped, wander-worn. It is dirty, Flung across a winter, a summer. Repeat."
Absolutely keep writing. You have a gift.
Your comment humbles me. I thank you so much for taking the time to read this. The two parts that you cite are actually two of the most important parts of the piece, and were (believe it or not) the hardest the translate from emotion to word. I will take your final command as the greatest compliment I have ever received, and I will, indeed, continue to write, as I'm sure all others who do so feel as if they have no other choice. It must come out.
Delete" A terminus
ReplyDeleteFor pilgrimage. A million Meccas.
Shrines noisy with the
Parroting of you."......interesting indeed...
Very complex images but you have put it all together with excellence.
ReplyDeletehttp://seasideauthor.wordpress.com/2014/08/31/my-harvest/
Great sense of what poetry should be here--you don't attempt to wrap everything up in the usual obvious 'money line' as so many modern poets (led astray by haiku and with no understanding of it) try to do--you don't attempt to curtail a thought or image with a cheap slap in the face style, nor do you over explain, or over-tell. The sense of urgency, of surreal but very human insights, is unflagging, and your use of the question mark, which can be so banal, as well as your carefully weighted repetitions, are totally spot on and just right, not overdone. I'm extremely impressed with this poem on so many levels, and I won't begin to quote all the delicious bits back, but I especially loved the references to the Medulla, the second hand ligament, the umbilicus, all making the mental world into the physical, and the superlative first and final stanzas. Just fine, fine writing. (am adding you to my blogroll, so I can read more.)
ReplyDelete