Now I know why I used to say that, and what it hid.
i wonder if you think
you’ve robbed me of my words.
you gave me something precious:
knowledge, and my only thanks
can be silent.
i used you as an augury.
i thought to have no choice.
the echo you may await can never come.
achieved, in that tiny matter
it is complete.
The relationship to the mentioned hexagram is via a rather different interpretation, incorporating 24. This poem is about the writer committing an error by not attempting to act with ‘firm correctness’. It is also a very dour picture of the future, but then this is merely a story. One hopes.
of shattered moments
form fractal expressions
of beauty, made
by the shaping of near-molten metal,
are many forms of speech.
the image is of a smith at his (her) trade, hammering almost liquid metal
the fragments of you i remember
i know are (half? mostly?)
certainly part self-perception
like seeking true reflection
in the scattered bits
of a shattered mirror
frantically seeking that mirror’s repair
symbol of my longlost soul
or your clear remembrance
(no matter the foreknown pain, i
struggle to recapture
that searing moment
that our meeting was
but as i struggle
to collect those fragments
somehow they cut free, and i bleed
These are both ‘studies’ in the sense that they are exercises of a kind–experiments might I suppose might be a better word–in styles and in one mixing of an experimental style I basically abandoned with my ‘normal’ style. If there is a distinctive difference in much of my poetry and writing and general it probably results from the usage of more than one viewpoint or perspective.
*This in particular is a purely conceptual poem, the image created by a shattered mirror’s reflections (and the attempt to suggest that the apparent distortion may lend a kind of truth that may not be entirely specious). [There is also an echo of
‘sun on bright water
by a pebble’
which was my landmark poem in that it represented a definitive step into my own style without any hint of apology. Since I deliberately employed Grecian mythology in the poem to the extent that it is meaningless without its knowledge, it was a fairly brazen act. I lived with and amongst Christian Reformed people–Calvinists, who abhorred idolatry. But then my book report for the class for baptism was on Ship of Fools… I couldn’t resist and no one called me on it. In retrospect I still can’t believe it. I’ll leave it to the reader to find out which particular book I mean, with the hint that popular literature was just beginning.
“(…suddenly I realize, I am a ghost, myself)…”