early or late
this face
drifts on the river
the mist closes
in quietness
a dark business
water weeds stand
like flotsam tangled
you are alone
the dark place is not safe
the way of the dead
cannot be tamed
the floating sun trails
still rust-coloured
fronds ripple a black pool
shadowy banks
the wild part used to be
alive an animal
the black spine
like question marks
this face
its sacrifice ...
peace
whatever that means
An erasure poem remixed from an early draft of an old poem of mine, Without a Signpost, which never quite worked, interwoven with the first chapter of Jeanette Winterson's The Daylight Gate. It's an experiment; please tell me if it works for you (and also if it doesn't).
Submitted for The Tuesday Platform (24/2/15) at imaginary garden with real toads
An erasure poem remixed from an early draft of an old poem of mine, Without a Signpost, which never quite worked, interwoven with the first chapter of Jeanette Winterson's The Daylight Gate. It's an experiment; please tell me if it works for you (and also if it doesn't).
Submitted for The Tuesday Platform (24/2/15) at imaginary garden with real toads
Such wonderfully vivid imagery in this poem, Rosemary. Steeped in mood. I especially love "the wild part used to be alive/ an animal/ the black spine/ like question marks". Wow!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Sherry!
DeleteI like the way you set your poem out in short-lined couplets - it allows one to fully focus on each image. You show us that a certain kind of peace is attainable in the quiet places.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Kerry, for taking the trouble to read and comment.
DeleteIt allows a pause, allows each image to absorb - but I do like your way with words, and I think a more flowing, longer version would be what I would prefer. But, it is also nice to mix things up, as this does seem quite different than your usual.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Margaret. I'll consider the 'more flowing, longer version'.
DeleteI like your erasure poem. They aren't real easy to write, I have only done one that I would post.
ReplyDeleteHere you are reminding me of the border between Mexico and the U.S. It used to be a playful place for across the river neighbors to mingle with a little fun. Not everyone swam, at the Big Bend National Park there was a little rope ferry boat for pedestrians. I didn't take it but it was very popular for folks both ways.
Now drugs, illegal immigrants that stay, international criminal gangs, terrorist fear, and our bumbling border guard force have ruined things that once were just plain nice and of no harm to anyone.
I think that our Canada border has created about the same atmosphere to our north.
Thanks, Jim, for sharing these thoughts. I feel this might not be the final version of this poem. It would be very interesting to bring into more focus the idea of borders!
Delete