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Christine Boyce

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Another shade of orange
By Christine Boyce   

Last edited: Tuesday, February 18, 2003
Posted: Monday, February 17, 2003

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Why visionaries must be short-sighted.

Poetry has just been a religion. Only a reason for living. Not a fact, not a rationale, not even a picture.

Poetry has been a fog, a world without glasses in which everything is vague. A world in which soft-edged people wander in and out, and can be spoken to softly. A world in which I was constantly bathed with humidity, and did not have to alternate between droughts and storms. A world of a few tears and no great sadness.

Sharp edges defined with the newest technology show me the coldness behind the bright purple smiles on your sweater. My vision faded naturally as I read—naturally and mercifully over the years. New words and less meaning. More, more words, twisted words, tragedies that solved nothing over the last few thousand years except to teach us to make more tragedy. And now you give me vision again. And now you burn me with sharp vision again.

Good night.
Parting is...

Parting is the method in the madness of words, words, words. To stay means to hold back from going. What is my movement? Take off your glasses, and you can still see my movement, parting the door from the wall, leaving here, going there, running out because of what I spotted out the window.

The sorrow is as sweet as a Christmas clementine,
something I will taste again
until it is no longer a memory
or poetry,
but only, among oranges,
another shade of orange.

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Reviewed by Sage Sweetwater 8/20/2005
Another shade of orange ... a whiter shade of pale ... a tinge less hue of lavender ... Poetry is more difficult to write than a novel! The author of poetry has to put together a novel-length plot/idea in a compressed space. And then try to find an audience who can fathom the message! How many times have we heard, "I don't read poetry because I don't understand poetry." I say to this, "Expand your intelligence quotient, quiet your mind, fill your room with fragrance and put up the hour glass. When the sand runs out, if by this time you have not fathomed the depth of poetry ... well then you never will. Parting is such sweet sorrow."

By the way ... I love poetry. I analyze poetry. I don't "read" poetry. I analyze poetry to get the just ... and most of the time ... I do ... but it takes a quieted mind. This visionary says poetry will continue to thrive until we have to ration intelligent minds. And why would we?


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