The sadness of bursting bubbles
is all-pervasive
a moment’s relief may become
everlasting sorrow
and yet there are thousands
thousands
their snapping and crackling
all around
while I mourn
Attention attracted to notes of
music from the other room
baroque construction like a perfect
fountain
attention attracting architecture
fioriture overflowing
forming streams in the corridor
while someone’s sitting upstream
in the other room
Skin still warm from the bath
dripping hair released
embellishment like trills to a melody
emptying the water
circumvolutions
of past and present
toward the end of the process
soon we may be meeting
near the bright source
in the other room
My first thought while reading this, was that it was about death and mourning; however, here's a confession: I never could wrap my heart around Bach--the music was always so stately--so orderly that it simply never could enter into my own cluttered world and embrace me. As a consequence, on the first reading, I was utterly distracted by Bach's "Minuet in G" running through my mind at the mention of Baroque music, that I could hardly take in your words-- though I have to say that the construction in that part of the poem went along perfectly to the music I was mentally humming until I met the wall--those trills. Because of that specific piece of music I chose to hum, those trills really threw me, so I had to refocus, and read it again with a quiet mind. I love that swirling water going down the drain in the end. I still hold the thought that this is about death; however, undistracted (or at least less so), I see the contrast between one who is young and full of life, and one who is just passing. At the formerly confusing point, I realized that it was an orchestrated confusion. And mourning is like that--not always a fluid sadness, but one that is interrupted by odd little thoughts, dissapointments, self-pity, anger, hysteria, prayer, panic, bad memories, good memories-- all spurradic and well, bubble-popping. Then all of that converges in the end of your poem into more fluidity, and an emptying. And as suggested in this poem, life "going down the drain" may not be all bad; "All drains lead to the ocean," right?-- another room, near a bright source. You're brilliant.
Well, after all that, I decided I really needed to find the perfect music to mind-hum while reading this piece. I thought, "what about a polonaise by Bach...NYA!... so then I briefly thought how appropriate Motzart's "Alla Turka" might be... but NO GO!... I finally settled on Chopin, though strictly speaking, he's definitely not Baroque, he too wrote a "Polonaise"--so full of Pollish pride and lovely angst, that I loved the idea of using it in my mind. So, upon re-reading this poem (for the umpteenth time--and believe me, it was worth it), I've decided it is the perfect piece to mind-hum--complete with the circumvolutions near the end, and the concluding bright, positive ending. (Am I presumptive or what?)
circumvolutions
of past and present
toward the end of the process
soon we may be meeting
near the bright source
in the other room
love your marriage of language and idea in this poem, Axilea. And the sustained bath water/bubbles metaphor is a brilliant medium of meditation and reflection. xx
I got lost in the first stanza,seriously i wanted to sit and dwell on mourning the bubbles.....but i went on...I'm going to think of you as Axilea the mystery lady,because i never know where your leading ,always a good read.
....while listening to Bach, perhaps the opening movement of the fourth Brandenburg;
the 'while I mourn' is a contrasting solemnity, a moment of pause and still but the poem flows on, Axilea, and is thoroughly satisfying for me at least.
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Well, after all that, I decided I really needed to find the perfect music to mind-hum while reading this piece. I thought, "what about a polonaise by Bach...NYA!... so then I briefly thought how appropriate Motzart's "Alla Turka" might be... but NO GO!... I finally settled on Chopin, though strictly speaking, he's definitely not Baroque, he too wrote a "Polonaise"--so full of Pollish pride and lovely angst, that I loved the idea of using it in my mind. So, upon re-reading this poem (for the umpteenth time--and believe me, it was worth it), I've decided it is the perfect piece to mind-hum--complete with the circumvolutions near the end, and the concluding bright, positive ending. (Am I presumptive or what?)
--Charlie
of past and present
toward the end of the process
soon we may be meeting
near the bright source
in the other room
love your marriage of language and idea in this poem, Axilea. And the sustained bath water/bubbles metaphor is a brilliant medium of meditation and reflection. xx
and beyond. You are a prolific writer!
Always,
Deborah
Regis
fee
Christine
There is so much to be learned from your writing. It is imaginative, unique and enjoyable, powerfully thought-provoking!
Blessings,
Christine
the 'while I mourn' is a contrasting solemnity, a moment of pause and still but the poem flows on, Axilea, and is thoroughly satisfying for me at least.
John
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.