Tell us how the soul is bound and bent
into these knots, and whether any ever
frees itself from such imprisonment.
—Canto XIII, Inferno
Because I heard on the radio an aged concert pianist
proclaiming the greatness of Uri Geller he said
it’s true children all over the world are doing it
because they don’t know they can’t:
I picture all those cutlery drawers - the bent and twisted metal
the aggravated molecules and angry mothers
only wanting for it all to settle into something
beautiful or useful or both - mind and matter -
so that after they’ve eaten they’ll lick their fingers
wipe them and silently go
to the piano where even with arthritic joints
their knotty hands will play Chopin etudes
the notes held together but unbound floating
into the kitchen where the food sits stolidly
on the unaltered flatness of plate
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Comments
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eat your ice cream while it is still on your plate
shoe man. Mo Zart. Beet Ovens. Good cookin'
Bad booze cam make one boo coo duh dinky do`
Raw goat milk can help discern - get great sleep.
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You will "comments are shut off." eat ice creams?
Muslims no do eat bacon or pork chops. Jews may?
Tags ...
... "dear dairy"
`
Nature -Bless dairy cows, chickens, ducks (mallards), curly tailed piglets, lame goats...
what is an adjective?
Sorry dear, I skipped.
I farmed since my birth.
It's been born to be poor.
But, I sense inner wealth.
`
a apple on a silver platter
is served when it's perfect
the perfect apple is served
only at the perfect moment
`
Your as clear as a child banter
Ba Ba La La boo bookie mumbo
Oh,
a we be chomping at poor hooligan.
It way bonkers-good but hop in sack.
I can't recall what planet are we on?
childhood freedom, bent utensils, music notes the only real boundaries.
I kind of want to applaud after reading/hearing this.
Chopin. Bound souls. Unbound. Floating.
(the bottle opened, it must breathe)
"the notes held together but unbound floating
into the kitchen where the food sits stolidly
on the unaltered flatness of plate"
where someone to ask me how to write, I would point these out and say, see here, this
not simply stringing along lines, the sewing of images prettily posing
but this
the crafting of a moment, an image, that hits me, speaks to my soul before speaking to my eyes
(my soul is thoroughly bent at the moment, my hope is that it is elastic, and that when the time comes to iron it out, it might find its shape back)
ps: this reminds me of eliot
art ~ I already responded to your comment, but failed to mention my delight in dear dairy and the ice cream. The perfect apple is sometimes the one with the worm, I think.
catch-22 ~ I'm pleased you could hear it - your spoken word poems - I'm thinking especially of "Everything You've Never Told Me" - have been music to my ears.
Rita ~ So glad you came by. Thank you.
Pilgrim ~ Ah, the attitude: for my part, I think it might be called a winding reverie. Your comment is a playground for the words-obsessed.
anna1liese ~ Memory makes intricate knots. Imagination, too. Your comment made me think of slipknots.
Vanessa ~ You flatter me!
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
"I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each./ I do not think that they will sing to me."
sigh
So I just sing to myself.
Sometimes I'm surprised by the patterns and arrangements thoughts and images form. The magic lantern, the nerves in patterns...
My soul is macramé.