March 23, 2007

It will live here, the beam
your eyes sought as the canopy opened.
And the ducks’ iridescence
and the oil marbling the brook.
I am noticing for you, behind things.
I turn the pictures into stories.

The hovercraft booked at a moment’s notice
you sit onboard thinking about the friends
I won’t let you miss

and fiddling with briney paper,
making animals. Leading them in
one by one. To keep them alive.
I follow sometimes

and help you feed them. When they’re lowing
in rough seas, I come and sit with you
at the helm, right close behind your eyes.
But mostly I play. Shape us
styles that grow like wardrobes,
clothes that you see
when you wear me.

In Dieppe, the pebbles
from the beach are stuck in the roads,
the sides of buildings. Maybe they miss
the press of others above, the textures
around them? Towns are such
haphazard things, cobbled together
with whatever fit at the time. Nothing really sees
anything else. I dazzle you with your friends,
both for you and because I love the sight of them.

At the club, we work so close
with ears and heart and hands and feet.
Friction soaks into melody
that smoothes moment we
craft into memories, fantastical beauties
that make the unicorns blush. I watch them join the arc
as you dance. One day
I’ll teach you to paint.


3 Responses to “bricolage”

  1. this has ducks in. 10/10. No seriously, I like. dreamy, almost. memories are like dreams. happy dreams.

  2. Most people write words. You paint.

  3. Thankyou both. This one is attempting to be quite visual, though I worry it may go on about abstractions too much for a poem about vision. It is quite dreamy too, yes, memories are much like dreams I think, in the sense that they are projections. They’re just generally more relevant I suppose.

    This came about when I was thinking about the motions the eyes make when we see a beautiful landscape, when some subtler part of us wakes up and directs our vision and awareness of the images like a movie director, or like an editor working on the fly – but mostly you don’t notice you’re doing it because you’re caught up in the moment. So I thought I’d describe the emotional aspect of vision as a character, if that makes sense. Also, I’ve thought about how one’s aesthetic expands and refines itself with all the images one sees, but you aren’t always aware of that process occurring, so I wanted to go behind the scenes. Sorry, I heard somewhere it’s the kiss of death to explain poems, but I love rambling about them at times.

    endlessly 😉

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