Friday, September 02, 2011

poem: side the tender

for esther

Heading to Nada tomorrow

sampling the road-weary pilgrims,

dodging the sheer cliffs of fate,

tangled sunflower sympathies

angling for the better view

deus ex machina that
whimpers beyond the bass notes,

in the dire dreams,

straits of gilbraltar,

over the top

disarray, but you

need the secrecy,

the solace of

one time past all

return &

by your side

the tender touch

of a smooth talisman,

calculated oblivion:

this was the last time she

entered the web of

the black prism,

forgiveness down

the arroyos of desire,

bastion of final

exacerbations, nether

possibilities of the ancient




Blogger Teresa said...

Great words here: "sheer cliffs of fate," "tangled sunflower sympathies," "arroyos of desire," and a "bastion of final exacerbations." Y nada mejor que un "deus ex machina that wimpers!"

The song was kind of melancholy, and your poetry really fits the mood.

12:24 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Sista T: No accounting for the poet's moods and behavior. I'm sure Esther's trip to "Nay-da" is all about fun and merriment, but the poet is not easily reined in.

3:16 AM  
Blogger Teresa said...

Perhaps it's on account of the nihilistic cross-lingual connotations of the Nay-da/nada name... It almost sounds like a trip to nowhere, especially with the gods crying up there.

10:25 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

The sky is cryin', cher. Look at the tears rollin' down the street.

6:56 PM  
Blogger Dee Martin said...

there are so many great lines in this. I love the dodging of sheer fate cliffs, the tangled sunflower sympathies (reminded me of Anne's photo), the whimpering man-made gods.

"the last time she entered the web of the last prism" - I may have to steal begs to grow into a story!
Then...the possibilities of ancient rhymes"


8:18 PM  
Blogger Teresa said...

Rolling to the gutters, to the ponds, to the streams, to the rivers, to the sea where they are lost in the ocean of formlessness, no hint of their former selves except two h's and an o.

8:34 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Dee: Plagiarism be damned! Literary theft is the highest form of praise. Steal the whole damn thing and put it in your garden.

Teresa: Lovely little poem, that.

7:18 AM  
Blogger anno said...

The repeated sounds in your poems always get me, get past whatever it is that insists on "making sense", and let me just feel the words, the gorgeous accrual of images; in this case, mournful, aching, beautiful. Am beginning to understand why you pair every poem with a picture and a song.

9:35 AM  
Blogger Teresa said...

Upon rereading it, I'm thinking the last bit should read "except two h's and an ever-essential eau."

Amen to your sentiments on literary theft... but not theft of term papers.

6:54 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Anno: I'm glad you're willing to forgo sense when reading my poems, and since they are in essence collages, the addition of picture and sound has long seemed all part of the organic process. I recently re-clarified the way in which my poems are "action poems," in line with what Pollock called his "action paintings." There was no plan: something provokes action; paint (or words) follow. They are virtually all prayers and invocations (of a kind), hence the impulse for repetitions.

8:05 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

T: Though I will not give in to the temptation, I suspect your term papers would make for some tasty poems.

8:06 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home