Friday, 11 May 2007
Full Frontal Lobes
The random quote I picked up from Poetry Thursday was 'mirror'. I have chosen a poem that uses that word from my second collection, due to be published in July.
(Apologies to those of you who have read this poem before - yes, you're right, this is the second time I've put it on my blog.)
‘my little grasshopper plane cannot fly very high’*
We listen to music from records that smell of warm tar,
opening the windows wide to let the sound through.
And despite the dark-green pine
and the orange-tiled roof of the house
against the hill, there are darker things
to consider in these wobbling, afternoon hours:
an imminent death, how chancy our lives,
last night’s dream. I tip my head right back
like a child drinking rain
and see at once how blue and terrible
a sky without clouds. How blank, like a mirror
that refuses to show me my face
and leaving me without the benefit of borders
or wings. You turn the record over
to play side two. I tell you about the dream
last night of my father, dead now
thirty-seven years and how I heard him
say, “See how right you were to trust me?”
*title of a song by Sergio Mendes and Brasil 66 on the album 'Stillness'.
The other day in the mail were the proofs for my second collection, 'made for weather'. M told me what he's painting for the cover. This book is now a reality!
Meanwhile ideas for the next collection continue to swirl (a little like the leaves M is going to include in the book cover.) Now begins the hard graft of shaping these ideas into hard-won poems.
Lately my prose writing has reverted to quickly recording daily events and quirky incidents - like the teenager on the bus the other day I heard say, "He used to be bi-sexual, but now he's stopped."
(Of course this could as easily become a poem as a prose piece.)
Riding on a bus chock-full of yelling high school kids is, yes, shall we say ... an interesting time? I did make a mental note though, not to catch the 3.15 bus again. It could be classed as a fascinating experience, however, terrifying would also qualify. I don't know that I particularly need to hear the yowling, unsettling things about parents and peers that sally forth sparking hot off the press from disengaged, under-developed frontal lobes. Gary Snyder, Jack Kerouac and the rest of the beat poets? I tell you, these kids have nothing on them!
Of course I half-jest. This is me being sardonic people! Teenagers are cute. Their energy and zest inspirational. Refreshing. (Of course I have to say that. I have a granddaughter heading that way fast. Oh dear.)
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