Monday, 23 April 2007

poem as autobiogrpahy

i wrote this in the park yesterday.
i have wanted to write something like it for a long time. nearly four years. hopefully eventually i will be able to write about certain things better, with more style, more poise and more exacting, less self conscious imagery. as it is, this is more a flow of consciousness, a reaction to memories and an attempt to look at time, the future and the past and the promise of the future. one day i will hopefully be able to write about outside reaction other than just alluding to it in a slightly bitchy way.
i would be interested to know what people think it is about. because obviously, i know what it is about, but reading it back i think it could have multiple meanings, and could be the result of multiple expereinces. so answers on a postcard please! or in a comment at least!
it is a poem, but it doesn't really have any form.
it is dedicated to more than one person in some ways, but especially to one.

Poem as autobiography

Can you understand this, this what I say to you non speaking I hope you hear me but I think you don’t, I think you ignore what I don’t say.
Don’t speak.
Hold it here for me now.
Don’t speak.

For I, who have looked death in her pretty face and laughed, offending all with my laughter who could not would not do not understand my sound.
I wasn’t mocking.
I moved in triumph.
I moved in triumph from her stony caves to exist in this moment.
I turn my back on her with sly smile so that I could be led to this here now you with me don’t let it go don’t let it fade let it be real here now you me this moment
Was the reason for survival.
She makes sense to me now.
I wasn’t ready for her before now, she was readying me for you for this.

So don’t say.
Don’t say I have to give it back.
Don’t say this isn’t for me.

The first time it happened.
The first time it happened I collapsed halfway along a carpeted mountain and thought
IS THIS IT
And crawled on my knees dragging my hands and
d r a g g i n g m y f e e t
body snakelike over beige carpet to the safety of my bed.
Unconscious.
Not ready yet.
I wake up.

I have tried many times to write this down.
I have tried many times to write this down and I have failed many times.
Who knows when I will succeed.

I clasped my body to myself and I think
Holy holy holy holy holy holy holythis is not it.

I did not know what was to come.
More than a stone’s throw away.
I tried to record it all.
Here and here and here
And especially here
ESPECIALLY HERE - } ( )
I couldn’t make it clear, just red alarm signs screeching off of me.
Look at me and think
Holy holy.

She stands above me wagging a mocking finger than I take for a beckoning
And for a second time
I try again.
Pointed toes and fingers flared flayed I walk her narrow line balance no longer poised and as yellow skies flood my vision and
Enter my belly I think
I have changed my mind.
I think
I have changed my mind.
I want out.
I think I am holier than she knows.
I think I deserve better than what she so temptingly is trying to offer me.
I think I deserve my future moment.
This is a split second thought process.
This is much faster than it takes to write.
This is much faster than it takes to read.
This is a moment of crystallized fear.
This is a moment.
There is a time.
A time more than a stone’s throw away
When I will clasp your form against my breast.
That is something I deserve.
Holy holy holy.
I think I am letting the yellow out of my belly.
I think I am surviving.
This is mine.
THIS IS MINE.

1 comment:

Rabid Pounder said...

Blimey. Not sure that with my brain in "office mode" I can digest this properly.

My only semi-serious personal interpretation would be that it reads like a suicide attempt (but I'm hoping that's not the case!), or at least fighting depression

Either that or some kind of religious (or creative or otherwise) epiphany.

Do we get to find out the real subject or are u gonna be all David Lynch on us?