A Ghazal
The closing bell, the final gavel, the concession that it’s over,
and though we fight against the wicked nature of it,
over
best describes these worlds in which we find ourselves,
like mispronounced Antigone, just anti-gone, drunken, reeling,
over,
whelmed back with the sea of nothing, being no one,
dreaming nothing as days tick by like the counters
of the mile on invisible, empty trains cutting a swath
across the distance between
over
and done with like wreckage and obsolete machine parts
are, still left to rot and rust and grimness without any
will to grace to make them sad in another’s eye, only
over
like the great thunder of the buffalo upon the plain,
the quiet mutter of rain beneath an clean and unsullied
sky, the natural and uncomplicated pain of unheated rooms,
of huddling in the night when snow falls, waiting for the
sun to return and make it better, make it
over.
5 comments:
Man, you have a way of capturing that 'moment' with your work.
This one made me think of those times, when the 'moment' lasted forever, and all I could do was hope, it would end, and sooner rather than later.
I think we all have far too many experiences like these, separated with the all too brief moments we wish could never end!
I, too, remember many "moments" such as those that Bill speaks about. Your work brings so many thoughts to mind. Your insightful words help people question their experiences, and then see their lives more clearly.
Nothing to add to what's already been said, I couldn't agree more.
Ever thought about becoming a philosopher? ;)
like the counters
of the mile on invisible, empty trains cutting a swath
across the distance between
Thud. I feel as if my mind has just been bludgeoned. ^_^ (This line is perfect for reading out loud, I must say.)
p.s.
I was just wondering if the mention of "Antigone" has a significant reference to Sophocles's play? (She was after all sentenced to be buried alive, and later on hanged herself. *sniff*)
First, thanks to everyone for coming over. I appreciate your comments a great deal.
Bill,
We all find moments where we're stuck solidly in a place we don't wish to be, and those moments seem to stretch out for decades before they finally pass. One thing is over, but the next thing won't start, nor will the tedious falling action segment of a dead dream go away. Glad this one spoke to something you could identify with.
Doc,
Thanks, kiddo. You're always saying nice things.
Mush,
Only when I'm in an especially fine mood. (grins)
Ken,
Thanks a lot for that. I feel like our times have seen a great number of dreams die, or at least be put on permanent hold. It seemed that the Ghazal format's repetition of a word/phrase would make a good rhetorical backbone for such a statement.
Soulless,
That's me, bludgeoning brains! The link to the play "Antigone" is tenuous, more a memory of the way I first percieved it, as anti-gone. That misapprehension gave me a weird concept to think about, that of being anti-gone...did that mean you were here? Could anyone see you? What did it mean? Anyway, these are the thoughts that kept me out of the really good schools, I'm sure, but they make interesting fodder for poetry. Thanks for coming around again.
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