HE SAID, SHE SAID
Beside the shadow of the graceful willow tree
With its slender branches draped in ample finery
Of a soft glowing green, like the eyes of an ogre from a nightmare;
Lay the well formed shadows of him and her.
A shadowy hand drew forward to stroke her flowing shadow of hair,
Their voices in incoherent unison, rose in great vacant swivels
Of her quivering rant, clogged with many tears;
His tone grew intense as the elegant sieve of green and gold drew patterns on his shadow so clear.
Above these estranged shadows, tapping the branch with her twig-thin legs in a dance-like motion
She shivered slightly under her feathery wings in sweet anticipation.
He approached her from the melting horizon, windswept from his smooth flight,
Rushing to her side to greet her, she tittered and twirled in sheer delight.
Back down, the shadows had drifted apart, by far more than just a few feet
Heads of shadow weighed down with pain, eyes brimming with hurt, refusing to meet.
And then, at once, he said, she said, their stoical goodbyes ,wary and cold.
She turned, he turned, and the shadows, like love, had faded, the dark brown turned to gold.
Resting on the boughs, blissful in their cage of sun and shadow
The reunited lovebirds made merry, adorning the meadow;
Where a love went wrong, while above, other lovers caressed;
3 comments:
I read this while listening to Vivaldi's Concerto Number 1 In E, Rv 269 'spring' - Iii Largo. And I'm writing this as I listen to the Allegro. The music seemed surprisingly appropriate. Do you find that the experience of poetry is escalated by good music? Again, this poem is ripe and lush with imagery, something I've come to expect from you. The language shifts so fluidly from the gaunt to the magnificent and the words are inescapably poignant in a way that I can't describe, for instance - "A shadowy hand drew forward to stroke her flowing shadow of hair", when I read the word hair, my mind begins to overflow with dense aroma and heavy fibers. It's unsettling in a wonderful way. There are sentences like this one through out your poem and they've enabled me in a sense to lose myself in your words and in Vivaldi, for this I must thank you. Coming back to the poem itself, it seems almost satirical of human love. Two lovers with the overwhelming beauty of nature and the fleeting love of birds around them still manage to put and end to their love. In the midst of a wonderful world like this we are still painfully human and even inside 'the cage of the sun' our eyes still remain closed. The contrast is brought out exquisitely with very pretty language. It's an ironic subject to write a poem on, but do you really believe that? That we do not yet know how to live and love? Also, the poem seems to be suggesting that nature holds the key to self-fulfillment, it seems to be encouraging a step back into rustic, greener ways of life. And it seems to be saying that love is not something that we hold inside ourselves, that it isn't something personal, something that we cradle within ourselves, but something far more elemental and vast, something that cannot be confined or tamed. Love is an environment, a place wherein exists true beauty, it is something that we live in, taking from it and giving to it with every breath, it is the culmination of human capacity, it is where we are perfect. Your poems are always the highlight of my day whenever I read them. Keep them coming. Keats comes to mind right now - "Beauty is truth and truth is beauty. That is all ye know, that is all ye need to know".
You have obviously put a lot of thought into this review, more than i deserve i am sure, and i cant thank you enough:-). You must be psychic, Vivaldi's 'spring' and 'summer' have constantly played in my head (and on the music system) these last few days, there is no escape from the grip of something so delightfully perfect as 'Four seasons'. And you are right, after all music is poetry, and poetry is music, the knots cannot be undone. The poem was inspired from a picture, of birds on a willow tree. And the growing number of failed 'relationships'.
Don't be so modest. And where would we be if poets weren't told how beautiful their works are? Trust me, you deserve it. I'm glad that you think so highly of the four seasons. Personally, I never thought something as languid and balmy as summer could inspire music so powerful in anyone. Vivaldi really blew my senses open with that magnificent piece of music. Yes, poetry is music, and the way your poetry dips it's images in Vivaldi's rich music leads me to think that the two are in love. A marriage who's knots cannot be undone. I should add that I think it's amazing that a single picture inspires things like this in you, something elemental and colourful runs deep in you I think. And the new name is cute. Why strawberries?
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