Saturday, June 9, 2007

The Darkness Broke

Half the face of darkness
becoming infinite and alive
through Aether and Ocean
breaking on the shore rocks
-
a mind; trapped--separate
Imagine: a voice, a gift
as a pane of ice pure, cool
heart's eye mouthing the words
-
Golden crowned Anansi
so supple her web spun round
each strand, a thought:
silent wondering lines
of love loss, languishing alone,
so far from the Jamaica Plain
of her birth--deus ex machina,
with eyes as my own in the night
would she search the mirror still?
Horizontal as she'd rather be
her gravestone hidden in the eyes
of Star-crown, heaven's wish--
all broke evenly on the shore
-
would she not hate these words?
-
dare I speak them directly to the darkness?
I am no succinct Gabriel, nor deterred by this

5 comments:

Susan Miller said...

First, I must say I adore the story that has played out to the left of your posts. You have a wonderful sense of humor, which has to be one of the most crucial tools we carry in this world.

In regards to this post, I feel I must research the content before I post any incoherent ramblings on it. Other than, some type of connection...I feel some type of connection here with this woman in the darkness.

Once again, its great to come here and see your art.

eric313 said...

If you look for a poem called "the spider", another called "the Mirror", and yet one more called "I am Vertical", all of them by Sylvia Plath, you'll find much of the meanings.

Google these words for more:
"Anansi"
"Deus Ex Machina"
They also come from "the Spider".

Thank you for your interest, Susan. We will both profit from this exchange of ideas.

the walking man said...

I do not Sylvia Plath as a poet or as the never grew out of teen angst suicidal job she did on herself.

dare you read it to her..go ahead she would probably adore this piece.

eric313 said...

she would indeed, or the words wouldn't have woke me up from the edge of sleep to write them. Who wants to be haunted by that forever? Not me.

But maybe she'd detest this as a bunch of trite hitherto gathered lines--you know, poetry swill, especially since I combed through her poems for hints about exactly how she felt about herself at the time of writing it. I've seen her feel terrible and make herself feel better by poems end and vice versa. That's some careful reading. She could very well hate this crap and think I'm a bore!

Besides, her husband knew he was pushing an unstable person, and on some level, he probably enjoyed tormenting her, like so many of us do to each other when love goes beyond sour to putrid and all that's left are the games that hearts play with each other. Only, they played a game that ended in death.

Thanks Mark.

You ruined my tribute.

and I can't stop laughing.

eric313 said...

no matter what, I was very glad to be able to write something like this. It still scares me a little!