Day 26...Gnossienne

Avec conviction et avec une tristesse rigoureuse

This song is to be played
with a rigorous sadness
The song is to be played
with a light melancholy

Though you can't hear my music,
it plays in my film
Piano creeps in the movie
with a rigorous sadness

My movie is building
the sense of my character
Shadows move around me
with a rigorous sadness

With muted laughter,
the bit parts, the extras
mime my lines with a rigorous sadness.
I drink my coffee in the movie of me

In the cafe where the worlds collide,
the lives of others in many songs.
The rain is a scene in the movie of me,
on the actors' faces a rigorous sadness.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Day 7...Fib....

 Fib Day 7... feeling uninspired, but using, from Napowrimo site, the 'Fib' form: 1/1/2/3/5/8, inspired by the Fibonacci sequence, apparently.  We   lie  because  each sleeper   wants to conjure up   unreal, protective magic   pinned with ribbons like a war map,   a cat's cradle song:   these limits   cannot   show   us,   raw,   just what  we've cooked up-  like the trick with gold-  just keep it there, under your tongue   till  you're ready for invention   metaphysical-   swallowing   words dry,  like  pills
Read more

Day 5 -#PoetryPrompt Dream Imagery

  5th #PoetryPrompt was to go to Google Image Search and type in "dream imagery". Pick a picture. I did, then went off at a tangent - reading the article the picture came from...and thinking about when I suffered from sleep paralysis “When we fall asleep, where do we go?”    asks Billie #2,  asks Billie Eyelash (children’s nickname) Billie of the sleep Billie quoted in the dream enquiry or   I could show you, garish, clichéweird, the art of someone else’s dream  or   I could tell you of phosphorescence, the city in the sea that had no side and bled rooms over cliffs and here we lived recurring, and it wasn’t bad, even with the birds  or   I can tell you where I like to go, out of myself but standing to the left, slight phase jump echoes, leaves a jellyfish or traces, smidge of me atomic across blur, across the hours while, I the dreamer, aren’t there but here in my dream job, in my dream house the more ...
Read more

Day 9..Walk

  "Once I dreamt of a form of poetry created by the sound of feet walking in the grass."-    Cecilia Vicuna 1. ..by the sound of feet on grass, if I could find it, my feet on paving, sound of ground and breath . Yes, I can find my feet, I can hear my tread - imagine grass beneath and when I reach it, shed my city shoes, careless, the electric happens- nerve and blade and fuse connect alive and make a beaten track, wild through the woods back home. Yes, green grass and sound and I know music 2 . This is how we walk now, the seeds of grass are buried eight feet deep under the concrete- cracks appear. My bones ache ancient from all this hobbled walking- heel toe heel toe heel, so I and my chiropodist collide, we disagree on methods: why do you walk like you're dancing? She asks, now she's a choreographer, Feuillet marks on Hobart paving, glass teeth means en pointe; it ends up crippling. Ancestors ghost my muscles,  like relics of old saints, and we step side to ...
Read more