Share this with me,
this transience of habit
Marking the blindness of skin to water
as scriptures of fire traced in invisible
ink, this arc of canvas
Awash in the shellac of memories
in twilight, bitter years.
Secrets, and the pure misery
of remembrance, fingers scaffolding
eyes against the light
Of a thousand suns and uncountable moons
the astronomy of our bodies
miles and minds apart.
| Well, to be honest, I don't know whether you did it intentionally or not, but I like the fact that you tell folks not to comment on this but the protagonist clearly states a need for sharing. haw haw|
This obviously embraces a mysterious tone, very few stanzas are not cryptic in any way, there's a lot going on with light and darkness, though the darkness or the invisible always prevails; there are a thousand suns but uncountable moons, "fingers scaffolding eyes against the light", "twilight", "marking the blindness", "invisible ink" (scriptures of fire!), (the title) and the mentioning of the astronomy (not exactly a very bright spot, the universe) indicate so. Apart from fucking around before, I actually like the descrepance in "share this with me" and "the astronomy of our bodies, miles and minds apart", making for an wish, because it's a wish in vain.
Still, there's something the protagonist saw, but does not want to lay his eyes upon again, also, I think light and dark are twisted, but before I get to that, it seems important to point out the rudimental force that drives this poem, it's not just the use of light and dark, it's also talking about the absolute necessities to make an organism live; fire, water, the sun, (mind and) body and habitat (the eyes, definitely important here, I woulda been astonished if you had used a "keen gaze", you know, "charopos", I couldn't help but thinking of it the minute I found an interpretation for this one); but most of them seem to be in a miserable state. I could be more precise, because there is much much more to talk about, but ... I don't think there's any need for that.
I want to put it this way: you're right.
I hope I didn't ruin your poem, it's clearly functional and, if I got this the right way, it's a shame, such a well written piece, but yet I would forbid comments as well, I wouldn't want light to be shed on this piece.
This comment's ink still derives from the dark ages, so to say, so I kinda felt legitimated to express my gratitude.
"Besides, this [canvas] is a husk of what it used to be", right?
And it's a damn shame.
|| Posted on 2012-11-26 00:00:00 | by Jimi James | [ Reply to This ] |