Tags
2020, 6*, afternoon, angle, binoculars, blue, cranes, curtains, Eiffel Tower, flags, gorge, green, hope, horizon, mankind, moon, night, rite, rooftops, sea, seagulls, shape, ships, sitting room, sky, sound, stone, time, Tintin, travelling, walking, warehouses, water
the seagulls, they glide about the
cranes and warehouse rooftops
they wheel above the pacing and fro,
cut between pulleys and raised pennants
oblivious to distant headland through
studied binocular pointing out to sea, back in the day
when the skies were afternoon-blue
and the sea still sitting-room-green
then, when there was dare to hope
and ships anchored on the horizon
under curtain-drapes of nightest sky
while the moon snagged in line from
fore-mast to prow; nevertheless, they
trekked over crag and gorge, they walked
through water and pushed through
trapezoids – slab! – into rooms of stone
locked and immovable despite
horizon, fit or ninety degree angle
oblivious to mankind’s rite and dress;
meanwhile the twins climbed the tower
c’mon, now: a gold-plated no-prize to the first reader who can tell me which book this piece came from to celebrate my return to writing; perception – knowing what’s going on – is never as linear as it might seem to be in a story; already given that there is breadth and depth, even in the scant of depiction, there is usually a time (and a space, and we know how relative those two can be) during which something happens, but let’s not think that these are the only dimensions – there is always a right-angle to be taken that paisley-swirls to a far-wider cauldron than could have initially never been conceived but of which there were pre-echoes if listening askance intently-enough
————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–
afternoon & horizon & sky wormhole: travelling,
blue wormhole: silence
cranes wormhole: poessay XI – piquant love
Eiffel Tower wormhole: tag cloud poem VI – anyone’s eyes
green wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – tenderness
moon wormhole: ‘not sure …’
night & water wormhole: riders of the night
rooftops wormhole: travel // when I die
sea wormhole: then
seagulls wormhole: The Atlantic City Convention: 1. THE WAITRESS by William Carlos Williams
sitting room wormhole: the sitting room
sound wormhole: Four Noble Truths
stone wormhole: looking hard enough
time wormhole: travel // when I die
travelling wormhole: IN THE ‘SCONSET BUS by William Carlos Williams
walking wormhole: breakfast
mlewisredford 
I wish I could even venture a guess!
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c’mon, c’mon … the Thompson twins in the picture, the big clue in the tags …
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Well, I’ll venture TIntin. My son read many of them. And it is of that style.
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OK … over to your son if you want this no-prize (this is a no-prize, after all), which Tintin book; the clue’s in the stonework!
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Prisoner of the Sun?
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spot on: … here it is
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___\\\|||¬¬¬—“` “NP” ”’—===|||///___
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“perception – knowing what’s going on – is never as linear as it might seem to be in a story”….
….which leads us right into the heart of YOUNG WOMAN AT A WINDOW……..no?
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An excellently-made ‘stitch’ – we’ll make an embroidery of you yet
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Ach! I think I just sewed the knee of my jeans to my thumb…..
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… well, at least your knee’s safe
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And…..WELCOME BACK!!!!
(I think I might just be finding my way back as well…..)
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I’m not sure I’m as ‘back’ as I thought I was – I lost the impulse that has led me to write for these last nine/44 years (‘meanwhile’ was just a nostalgic spasm), but I’m coming to think it is not writing, so much, that I have lost but the searching-impulse which prompted it … I’ll find something, but I think I have to wait for it to come to me rather than search for it
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Ah yes….I lost the word impulse too….might be feeling it a bit these days…also lost the image-making impulse mostly…and mostly been chasing the muse-ical impulse down various rabbit-holes. I find it best to let them lead me….mostly….yes….no point in “lookin’ fer luv in all the wrong places….”
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I used to think that poetry (with the smallest ‘p’, the search for meaning and beauty through writing, art, photography, music, dance, comic books, love, film, guitar solos, bass solos, jam on toast) was the end in itself; I’m think I’m coming to see that it is merely the kickstarting means: the honing of the meaning-and-beauty faculty to the point where it can be developed further in and of itself;
there is a prayer from the Buddhist tradition which I am fond of: “may the supreme and precious jewel Bodhichitta take birth where it has not yet done so, where it has taken birth may it not decrease but may it increase infinitely”, where ‘Bodhichitta’ is both the mind wishing for Enlightenment and (`turns out) the mind of Enlightenment itself in the long run, all in one neat package; I’ve come to understand ‘take birth where it has not yet done so‘ as, amongst other means and flashes of lightning in the darkest of nights, the searchings of art and poetry; but there is a post art/poetry experience, ‘where it has taken birth, may it not decrease…’ that leaves the image/word behind but continues developing it ‘infinitely‘; all is not lost when the muse disappears, the muse is just trying to get you to walk on your own two feet
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I’m glad you’re both still here . . . eventually or now or still . . . some of us recognize each other over the years (you are both recognizable to me) . . . and we feel these comings and goings . . . familiar, familial
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ah, yes, and families are close and daily at one time but close and … yearly later; and the closeness will change over the years, but with an ever-growing history
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And any way I look at it, it’s always good to see you about.
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gawrsh darng, you say the purtiest things!
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