If we were swimming in the dark water
tonight, aware of the cold, knowing
that we couldn’t resist it much longer,
I could consider that as sharing,
sharing what else but our own private
solitude -
There was this insistence that life used to have,
but now it doesn’t seem so eager to dance
with me any more: you closed one door
and I shut all the others; your black eyes
out of sight, I only speak to stones now,
speak to my sorrow -
It used to be about escaping the wound,
the core, now it’s about being trapped in it;
swimming in the slowly freezing water,
under a wet, starless sky.
A profound rendering of the maxim: that which we resist always persists. I wonder, however, if the "trap" you posit here is not another word for "being taught" the lesson the narrative must learn before he or she can move on?
Reviewed by Diana Legun (Reader)
Reviewed on July 3, 2012
I like the line: "There was this insistence that life used to have," and the sharing of "...our own private/solitude - " along with doors - "and I shut all the others;..." so many of your visions given dimension, movement and moment. ~~ Diana
Wow, how amazing. I was thinking just yesterday about a scar that was once a wound of unfathomable emotion, only now there is no emotion,
nothing at all. I can relate to the "speaking to stones."
A very strange place for sure Alixea. Like a still fog, cold, motionless.
Thanks for sharing this wonderful piece.
dan
Hypothermia is so subtle - especially so of the emotions.
"I only speak to stones, now,
speak to my sorrow -"
the weight in these words is so immense and the visual so compelling. Fabulous sustained metaphor that speaks of a universal and personal tragedy that we surely can all relate to. Always excellent and meticulously crafted, Axilea. xx
Makes me think of Bob Dylan "You better start swimming or you will sink like a stone" did you sink? your poem is deep indeed~ always a pleasure to read you!
Axilea, I sense the emotional pain of a relationship held together by tenacity, formality -- love long ago ebbed without being noticed until it had completely disappeared -- now there is no anguish, no desire to attempt a resurrection -- only resignation and acceptance still ply the icy waters of love overturned in a sea of compromises -- "it used to be about escaping the wound, the core, now it's about being trapped in it" -- so richly descriptive of the pain of it all -- this is a work I will keep in my library to enjoy at will -- I bid you joy love and peace my dear friend -- Jon Michael
I had to wait to comment on this one--it's such a heavy poem--so vivid--so real. In the first strophe, it speaks something about hypothermia, and the ability to resist it--a bleakly metaphorical topic that is similar in nature to your last poem (on AD) "Brinicle". And recently, I've been seeing these commercials about a jacket that warms up at the touch of a button, wherein this Icelandic guy jumps in water holes carved out of the ice, and stays in there, "pressing the mind button" to keep warm. Well, it may be just as simple as mind over matter, but it would take one strong, trained mind to not succumb to that kind of enemy--that kind of ice-dagger--that kind of doubt, darkness and inevitable hypothermia.
The second strophe we arrive at via that mushy-ice-filled sea, still cold, still swimming tredding water in desperation, and we get filled with a loneliness so real, we feel our our limbs begin to shiver. (Mind over matter--mind over matter--mind over matter--get control again--okay, swim. Swim) Our sodden, metaphorical legs are dancing behind closed doors, black eyes, stones and sorrow. The colors (as mentioned before) are gray and black and shadowed. And that first line makes us ache for "insistence" again. And for me, I recall up all the times I felt like this, and they are bleak--the realization that you are carrying a dead child in your womb--that your first-born child may not live to see her fifth birthday--that your children will never know their grandmother, or your homeland, or... the list for me goes on and on. We feel it deeply.
The last strophe, though still dark, opens up a bit, so it's not so claustrophobic. It shouldn't, perhaps, but is does. "escaping the wound" is a powerful phrase--so powerful, that the next set is diminished somehow: "now it's about being trapped in it". So we're still swimming in the freezing sea, but at least now we know there's a sky, albeit starless and wet, though the mere mention of stars conjurs up an image of them in our minds.
Like some of your other readers, I would warm you! In my mind, I threw in I don't know how many quilts and blankets, but realized quickly that wrapped around your legs, they would drag you down to the depths. So, we throw out life-lines, floating devices, and freakishly strange jackets that warm up at the touch of a button, and we hope one of them--something falls within your reach, and you never succumb to the death-shivers.
Until then, please keep pushing your mind button. Keep saying, "I believe. I believe. I believe!" --Charlie
you can swim and be pulled away from shore or walk in the dark forrest in circles and never get where you need to be. What will save you? excellent poem. ~ Morgan
Wow wow wow. It takes two to tango on the same dance floor. Doors were meant to be opened. Perhaps something surprisingly beautiful lies on the other side. Patrick
THE DARKEST HOUR IS ALWAYS JUST BEFORE DAWN. IT IS MY HOPE AND PRAYER THAT YOU WILL REGAIN YOUR GOD GIVEN 'WILL' TO SEE THE SUN...AGAIN. WEEPING ENDURES BUT FOR A NIGHT...JOY COMES WITH THE MORNING LIGHT...SO, EMERGE! AND PRESS ON! LIFE 'IS' WORTH LIVING. PLEASE READ; 'I TRUST YOU, LORD' & 'TODAY'. THANKS FOR SHARING, LOVE, BLESSINGS AND FAITH...JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS
Reviewed by D. Vegas (Reader)
Reviewed on January 14, 2012
Axilea, a bleakness in your poem...disillusion...a terrible hurt
that all of us have felt at one time.
These words paint a sad, haunting picture of tragedy and lonleness.
Donna
Reviewed by RWE SAYS BYE (Reader)
Reviewed on January 14, 2012
there is a solemn splendor, a kind of sombre spectral elasticity about this, in that it keeps coming back to haunt you ... I've re-read it three times now at this second coming and though it speaks of darkness, I can't help but feel some ethereal light at its core...
There is an old REM song that forms the backdrop in my mind as I read this wonderful poem of yours... you may have heard it... if not, check it out on itunes... it is called simply, "Nightswimming"...
It's snowed here last night... and I thought of my brother for some reason... this poem evokes those personal kinds of memories... "swimming in the slowly freezing water." I wish you warmth, Axilea.
You've got a stunning poem here!
It's so real, and in shades of blue and gray, living color ~
Awesome imagery that brings me to tears, painful memories.
Blessings,
Christine
This is so sadly beautiful! You need a trip to the beach (ocean), it will do wonders to blow the cobwebs and doldrums out of your mind and heart.
Lovely work as always,
Peace, love and light,
From First Love to its destructive end and on to new beginnings, Mary Angela Nangini's poems explore the birth and death of a relationship. The powerful poems are presented in two parts with an introduction to her next book My Ontario Beautiful. (Th
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Tom
nothing at all. I can relate to the "speaking to stones."
A very strange place for sure Alixea. Like a still fog, cold, motionless.
Thanks for sharing this wonderful piece.
dan
"I only speak to stones, now,
speak to my sorrow -"
the weight in these words is so immense and the visual so compelling. Fabulous sustained metaphor that speaks of a universal and personal tragedy that we surely can all relate to. Always excellent and meticulously crafted, Axilea. xx
Chip Bergeron
The second strophe we arrive at via that mushy-ice-filled sea, still cold, still swimming tredding water in desperation, and we get filled with a loneliness so real, we feel our our limbs begin to shiver. (Mind over matter--mind over matter--mind over matter--get control again--okay, swim. Swim) Our sodden, metaphorical legs are dancing behind closed doors, black eyes, stones and sorrow. The colors (as mentioned before) are gray and black and shadowed. And that first line makes us ache for "insistence" again. And for me, I recall up all the times I felt like this, and they are bleak--the realization that you are carrying a dead child in your womb--that your first-born child may not live to see her fifth birthday--that your children will never know their grandmother, or your homeland, or... the list for me goes on and on. We feel it deeply.
The last strophe, though still dark, opens up a bit, so it's not so claustrophobic. It shouldn't, perhaps, but is does. "escaping the wound" is a powerful phrase--so powerful, that the next set is diminished somehow: "now it's about being trapped in it". So we're still swimming in the freezing sea, but at least now we know there's a sky, albeit starless and wet, though the mere mention of stars conjurs up an image of them in our minds.
Like some of your other readers, I would warm you! In my mind, I threw in I don't know how many quilts and blankets, but realized quickly that wrapped around your legs, they would drag you down to the depths. So, we throw out life-lines, floating devices, and freakishly strange jackets that warm up at the touch of a button, and we hope one of them--something falls within your reach, and you never succumb to the death-shivers.
Until then, please keep pushing your mind button. Keep saying, "I believe. I believe. I believe!" --Charlie
"swimming in the slowly freezing water,
under a wet, starless sky."
luv that image ...
Feeling nothing but their hardness
And seeing through that wet dress
I feel all the tenderness. . . . .missing.
Gorgeous Poetry
db
that all of us have felt at one time.
Always
Deborah
Donna
There is an old REM song that forms the backdrop in my mind as I read this wonderful poem of yours... you may have heard it... if not, check it out on itunes... it is called simply, "Nightswimming"...
It's snowed here last night... and I thought of my brother for some reason... this poem evokes those personal kinds of memories... "swimming in the slowly freezing water." I wish you warmth, Axilea.
It's so real, and in shades of blue and gray, living color ~
Awesome imagery that brings me to tears, painful memories.
Blessings,
Christine
Regis
we keep swimming,one word at a time
Lovely work as always,
Peace, love and light,
Amber