Holding your own pen may feel like
betraying the old text that had opened a door for us.
But you are writing your poem:
anxious moments need doors [left ajar]!
Life’s difficult rhythm, its insecurities call for
the ever-healing possibilities of freedom [felt].
Measures and quantities are imprisonments of the mind;
quantities and measures, encapsulating the loss [of treasures],
all can be forgotten when poetic memory dawns,
when the yolk explodes inside the poet’s mouth.
Primeval is the nucleus of the poetic word:
it begins, expands, transcends, dismembers, re-creates,
delivers from new prisons.
One does, another receives, temporarily betraying the old text;
one writes the new [freedom] – momentary misprision –
to draw the line to that door [left ajar].
I love the phrase, "all can be forgotten when poetic memory dawns"
Writing is such a wonderfully healing release that I can't even imagine life without it.
I sit silently in thought every time I read your work. Momentary misprision IS the way of life it seems. Thank the powers that be for it. For if it was not there, then suns would sit still and never rise or set, AND THE EARTH WOULD BE A COLD PLACE, AS WOULD BE OUR HEARTS.
the humble egg as symbol of cosmic creativity; very nicely applied in you line, "when the yolk explodes inside the poet's mouth." truly inspired writing, axilea.
blessings,
cg
very unique streams of consciousness here, Axilea, but it also reminds me of something I think Sylvia Plath said: about a poem being the space between the opening and closing of a door (well, something along those lines, perhaps!)
all can be forgotten when poetic memory dawns,
when the yolk explodes inside the poet’s mouth.
these are exquisite lines, so visceral, mind-expanding and so... spot-on, expressing very difficult-to-articulate concepts. Always a poetic trip and a poetic treat to visit your Den. xx
Dear Axilea, Bravo, you express with words what a poet feels. Sometime we don't find the word which is in our inner sphere which the mind cannot follow. Encore une fois bravo vous avez trouve un de nos points faibles en tant qu'etres humains. C'est le tour de l'esprit de prendre la releve. Love Emile
Reviewed by Peter Schlosser (Reader)
Reviewed on November 28, 2010
the pen is the vessel of all infinity, mathematics of poetic imagination. great poem!!!!
If you tend to believe romantic, passionate, masculine poetry is a thing of past eras, read "She Intrigues Me," and be swept away in the beautiful craft of a contemporary poet of love.
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Writing is such a wonderfully healing release that I can't even imagine life without it.
Thanks Axilea
Thank you for this. I love it. -gene.
blessings,
cg
all can be forgotten when poetic memory dawns,
when the yolk explodes inside the poet’s mouth.
these are exquisite lines, so visceral, mind-expanding and so... spot-on, expressing very difficult-to-articulate concepts. Always a poetic trip and a poetic treat to visit your Den. xx
Wonderful poem about writing and its challenges
Mary
Powerful and fresh.
Blessings,
Christine
fee