Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Pieces

for TRW

she has a coinpurse
filled with currency
not recognized
in this or any other
land now,
small talismans
from years ago
spread across
the rough burgundy
of her skirt


1
with three of her steps
for every one of his,
she walks the
bright green swath
behind his lawnmower,
a path through summer grass

looking up she sees
the winter's bright red sled
through the window
of the shed

2
a white wicker chair
with no legs
hangs in the apple tree
as a swing

white
among
white
apple blossoms

3
tilting her head back,
she looks up
into the
faraway
blue
of his eyes

4
the sound of his
typewriter,
constant
soundtrack
of her childhood

5
in the darkened room
lit only by
the soft lights
in the evergreen branches,
they begin to sing

but it is his voice,
rich bass,
contrapuntal,
pulsing through the harmonies,
that she hears

she drops the pieces
one by one
back into the pouch,
their weight wordless and
greater for the polishing

14 Comments:

Blogger Frankie said...

Gorgeous. I love the line about the white wicker swing among the white apple blossoms. You have such a way with imagery. It's really breathtaking.

1/18/2006 1:12 PM  
Blogger Patry Francis said...

The coin purse is so vivid. I can almost hear it jingling. Once again, you have extended your range.

1/18/2006 7:39 PM  
Blogger snowsparkle said...

i love the tone of this...beginning my day with the beauty of your poetry fills me with a sense of wonder and peace. you have a gift... thanks for sharing it! snowsparkle

1/19/2006 8:09 AM  
Blogger Lhombre said...

Wonderful music! The pace of the imagery is like a drawing in air! The speed of which, for me, is alluded to in "with three of her steps for every one of his.." It enhanced the scale of the "drawing " as well. This is a beautifully structured and felt poem.

Your use of "currency" as a large metaphor (physical and conceptual) that innflects much of the content of the poem throughout is also very beautiful.

I wrote a poem using one of those old chrome moneychangers that bus drivers used to use as a means to coming to terms with some of my past. This poem, though so different in tone and subject, reminds me a little in terms of metaphor. Perhaps I will post it someday and you can share your thoughts with me.

This is truly beautiful! Thhanks for the gift today!

I've been quite busy lately. But I will have to visit your site more often.

1/19/2006 9:35 AM  
Blogger rdl said...

I really like this one! beautiful.

1/19/2006 11:13 AM  
Blogger Rexroth's Daughter said...

Yes, such beautiful imagery. I feel like I'm in the swing, and seeing different things as I ascend and descend in the arc of joy and sorrow.

1/19/2006 11:26 AM  
Blogger Firehawk said...

MB,

This one has a strong set of images, little rembrances of a past that are so much tied to the talismans we keep, far beyond anyone else's ability to remember or corrolate them to anything.

1/19/2006 5:51 PM  
Blogger zhoen said...

I heard stones in the purse, trinkets and medals, talismans of memories.

Your writing evokes more than is factually present. A rare skill.

1/19/2006 6:47 PM  
Blogger MB said...

Frankie, I'm glad that image struck a chord with you. Thanks for your comment.

Patry, that purse is full and overflowing. I'm glad you, especially, could see that.

Snowsparkle, writing poems is a solitary project except when I share. Thanks for being here to share with me.

Lhombre, thank you for your warm words. They are much appreciated. I'm pleased you saw it as a "drawing in the air" for that is very much the way I think. I'm a combination of visual and verbal and it often feels like I'm creating paintings of words. I would love to read your moneychanger poem someday when you are ready. Let me know. It's a pleasure to have you visit here.

rdl, thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed it.

RD, I smiled to read your metaphor of reading. And I was surprised to see you mention sorrow. That's where having others read these poems gets fascinating. They help me see things I don't see in them.

Firehawk, thanks for stopping by. Yes, little memories that few are likely to share... but take them out occasionally to look and perhaps polish them up a bit on the hem of a shirt (or skirt).

Zhoen, the process of writing a poem is a bit like a risky distillation, I think, reduction to an essence through a process that could destroy the essence. The best poems are more than a simple essence, they are a whole that is greater than the sum of their parts. They do exactly as you say, and I'm never sure mine do. Thanks for your vote of confidence.

1/20/2006 8:43 AM  
Blogger Brenda said...

As much as this is a visual poem, I hear many sounds whenever I read it, clinking talismans, swish of skirt, wind as the wicker swing flies high, his typewriter, the contrapuntal harmonies of his voice, and the past, which opens as she opens the purse, and closes as the poem closes, and I imagine the man is your father...

1/20/2006 3:59 PM  
Blogger Gilbert Koh said...

I like it too. Nice structure, goes well with what you're trying to convey in this poem,.

1/20/2006 4:10 PM  
Blogger MB said...

Interesting, Brenda, to have you point out so many sounds. I hadn't focused on the poem in that way. You are right, of course. As much as I said I'm visual/verbal, sound is, of course, a huge part of my life as well. Yes, this poem is dedicated to my father.

Gilbert, Thanks. I'm glad you appreciated the structure. I tend to avoid using such "devices" but it made sense to me to enclose the pieces, to form a bowl or cup to hold them and give them shape.

1/21/2006 9:41 AM  
Blogger Sue hardy-Dawson said...

This is so vivid she has a purse of dreams, I love the way you watch her then drift into her mind, breath taking

1/28/2006 12:06 PM  
Blogger MB said...

Sue, thank you.

1/30/2006 11:25 AM  

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