one word short: circuit
meridiansthe mississippi lines
down your back
past the depot of your
agonies
the riverways
pathways
knowingways
bells in the ringing
the everythinging
that we tell ourselves
in the backways
the playways
the telling that goes
no further
than the mornings
whispers cannot fly
visions dare not try
taste is in the next room
will we go there
will we
will we
will
we
Labels: son volt
posted by murat11 at 9:42 AM
9 Comments:
Ouch. History and pain at vibratory levels. Blood cries out. Crimes are eventually revealed.
the agonies that leave scars like a trail down the backways the playways, the headways.
Richard and jsd: Now, this was an interesting pair of comments: funny, in that I wrote the poem, if memory serves, to Teena Marie's "If I Were a Bell" in the background, and really saw this as a groovy little love song, "agonies" notwithstanding, even with the "dare nots" and "cannots." Which is not to dismiss y'all's readings at all. I kept wanting to take "agonies" out of the poem, since given my conscious sense of the piece, it did not seem to belong; but, when I did take it out, it cried out to be put back in.
So do things collide, and sometimes I just need to get out the way...
Interesting, both the poem and the comments. For some I can't read "agony" without thinking the countervailing "ecstasy", and you know there's no passion without suffering, and maybe love is what it takes to encompass it all. Sure felt like a love poem to me, full of hope & quivering trepidation, which is perhaps only to be expected.
I was feeling all the little racing down around and over and through - the electrical impulses moving through the wires, humming and flying. No agony for me (unless you grab the wires and break the current)
I was thinking that same thing that agonies are just the prelude to ecstasy. Loved the picture and the words. Great poem. And reading the comments, I'm wondering if women aren't wired differently from men to go through the agony/ecstasy of childbirth... To me this was a happy poem.
Anno: I like "quivering trepidation": I think that gets it nicely.
Dee: I think you caught hold of the everythinging...
Happy to me, too, T: agonies in the depot, and too many ways not to be playing, everythinging, in the moment, where even taste, vision, whispers fall away.
Still, not to dismiss Richard's and jsd's takes, there was tension in the final four lines: I wrestled with them and then just let them declare themselves alongside the depot.
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