Monday, November 27, 2006

Writing Our Lives

The story begins in a room
The house at the beach in winter
With the silent bed and table
Under the crystal eye of night.

I get out of bed, put on my
Corduroys and sweatshirt, don’t
Forget notebook and take the bicycle.

Down on the dunes I’m reading
Reading what I’ve written. How the rugs
In the room seemed dark. How the fireplace
Felt cold. How the night spoke the unsayable truth.

Pen moves left to right like anxious tomorrows
And delightful snow that passes in sleep.
A seagull shrieks for love and the sea.

We’re sitting on the dune; your hair mingles with the wind.
You’re reading the progress of your life, naked and vulnerable
The pages says “her soul filled the outline of her face
As she spoke of desire, dependence and jaded loneliness.”
The book says too much. We fell silent and turned the page.

“They sat beside each other on the dune watching the slow swells
of the sea. They both agreed it was ideal. It was ideal. They spoke outside
of themselves into the future and forever. Every meanwhile lingered.
The answer to every question was ‘yes.’”

I stopped writing just then to capture the perfect moment.
To live in the crevice of each letter like a hopeless cause.

And when
And when I stopped

And when I stopped writing
The seagull flew high
Into the unreflected sky
and died -
It was its own image, subtle and cruel.


Blogger {illyria} said...

you know, i had myself singing a few lines of this like a well-loved lyric. or maybe i'm just in a sing-song mood.

i think that vacation did you lovely.

5:12 AM  
Blogger GEL said...

I felt like I was there. I could hear the rise and fall of the surf from the way you penned this.
particularly liked "Pen moves left to right like anxious tomorrows"
Missed your writing- Welcome back and I hope that your vacation was wonderful!

2:43 PM  
Blogger bert moth said...

{illyria} - Either way, singing is like stealing time - creating your own tempo, and I like that.

gel - Thank you. The only thing about vacations these days is it's difficult to get completely away. There's so much connectivity.

10:21 PM  
Blogger _Soulless_ said...

The sadness in this lingers in me, especially with the ending. Also, in relation to the seeming solitude in the first four stanzas. And my fave line:

To live in the crevice of each letter like a hopeless cause.

Did you get to catch lots of fish? *grin* (I saw the 'hiatus' note before.) Glad to have you back.

7:40 AM  
Blogger Prerona said...

loved the seagull!

8:06 AM  
Blogger bert moth said...

addendum: I just read this for the first time since posting it. I usually don't revise these puppies, but if there was ever a candidate, this is it, I think.

soulless - Glad to see you active again, and thanks for the comment.

No fishing for me as it were. I haven't gone fishing in a few years. My pursuit happened to be intergalactic bowling. Rolling, man!

prerona - Thanks! It's usually a love/hate relationship with those things.

8:13 PM  
Blogger blue rogue said...

You started with a hum and ended in a dirge.

This poem is like a song. It's rhythm borne out of the repetitions invites a second perusal. The first one gives you what is believed, and the second one shows the sadness of it should have beens...

They both agreed it was ideal. It was ideal. They spoke outside
of themselves into the future and forever

4:47 AM  
Blogger Stormy Zephyr said...

I read this poem out aloud to one of my friends, and it flowed so beautifully. There are images that take wide turns, which are so beautiful. Nice work man! 'The answer to every question was "yes"'. Your voice is coming out clearly in this work, as it always has been. Take care.


8:07 PM  
Blogger bert moth said...

blue rogue - Thank you for those keen observations and for the visit. I'm glad the welcome wasn't worn out after the first reading.

SZ - Great to see you back. I'm tickled that you read this to your friend. I hope my wistfulness didn't rub off too much.

8:19 PM  
Blogger Scheherazade said...

oh, don't stop, don't stop cuchulain.

let the meanwhile linger (favorite line).

2:51 AM  
Blogger bert moth said...

scheherazade - Super to see you around again.

And to quote the effervescent Puff Daddy, "and we won't stop, we don't even know how to stop." [repeat chorus till fade].

Woah. What did I just write?

8:06 PM  
Blogger Cocaine Jesus said...

oh such lyrical sweetness that screws puff daddy into an uncomfortable latrine.

7:03 AM  
Blogger bert moth said...

cj - That's probably where Puff Daddy belongs. Let's make it a platinum latrine, just for him.

1:30 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

oh oh- all atmosphere and sweet pain- it was such an amazing feeling- reading this...after sooo long

9:35 PM  
Blogger bert moth said...

inkblot - Lovely to have you back. I hope the meanwhile was filled with gumdrops, spice and all that good stuff.

11:13 PM  

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