Saturday, December 17, 2005

Ballet With a Silent Muse: In 6/8


Without waver
Without tongue

Fans a silence
Long ago


Upon tip-toe
To the still
Of your light

Each step
A code
To the night


No place
Left for shadows
To emphasize

The quiet
Of darkness
Has taken
Its place


But the sheen
From the floor
Now dented
In rows

Lights the dark
To reveal
That nothing still



With a bow
Towards my pen
As you
Turn off the stage

Once more
Dances over
This page


This liquid
As dark
As the space
Now defined

Hears no sound
From the steps
On this stage
Of my mind


Blogger Richard Lawrence Cohen said...

One of your best, I think. I like this songlike minimal style with its synesthetic images. I could tell from the start you were in the groove with this one.

12:28 PM  
Blogger Lhombre said...

Thanks Richard. I could really feel the sing-song movement of what I was trying to discover in the poem. The images were interesting as they kept appearing. It was like trying to look through smoke and then all of a sudden...

I'm not quite sure what it means on a more personal level. It's a little foreboding. But...

I like it too. Thanks again.

2:42 PM  
Blogger Brenda said...

I've come by to read this beautiful poem, beautiful dance a few times... and commenting almost seems to disturb the gentle motion, the dance, the woman and man, dancer and poet, words and inner consciousness, the love moving everywhere here. xo

10:28 AM  
Blogger Lhombre said...

Thanks Brenda. I'm not sure how to understand what I've written here. It seemjs to get a little harder each time. Not the writing so much as the unrequited feelings that it leaves. And that it might be one of my best, as Richard says, makes it even more foreboding...... I'm aging to quickly...

But...thank you for the wonderful support. Hope all is going well for you during this transitional phase in your life.

12:39 PM  
Blogger Tamar said...

Hard to find something to say after Richard and Brenda. I love this. I was swaying in my seat as I read it. What a dance!
Thank you.

2:57 PM  
Blogger Lhombre said...

Hey, thank you Tamar. The image of you swaying in your seat while you read the poem is such a wonderful comment. I love to dance. I've been an avid dancer most of my life. I'd like to think that the love I have for dancing and music was somehow transferred into the feeling I have for my muse through this poem. I've mentioned to others that there is a sense of foreboding in this poem for me. A kind of unrequitedness that is haunting me and I'm getting too old for that. But your image has brightened me up quite a bit. Thanks again.

3:32 PM  
Blogger Tamar said...

I resonate with the unrequitedness that is haunting ... and then ... getting too old for that. Is that to do with our expectation of finding peace as we get older? And is peace of mind a constant concept or fluid? After all, I think I go in and out of periods of peace of mind and unrequitedness almost like when I was young ... but not quite. The peace periods are longer and I seem to have more patience. But the unrequitedness will always be a part of me ... probably until I die. Oh well ... a bit of philosophical ramblings the day after Christmas ... who knew.

All part of the life dance this poem conjures up for me.

Thank you.

4:50 AM  
Blogger Lhombre said...

Gosh Tamar I never thought about my unrequitedness in terms of an inner peace of some sort. Now that you have raised it I will have to think about that. I think more than anything it is this incurably romantic notion I have that I die in the embrace of an angel. One filled with all the light that I chase in my paintings and poetry. I don't know if my angel is a real living thing or something else. I think the urequitedness that I'm feeling is the unresolved sense of fantasy or reality. I keep thinking my muse is real. I think I have to find out. Maybe that is the inner peace.
I must say though that if you looked behind my back you would see my fingers crossed for...

2:12 PM  
Blogger MB said...

As a musician, I am delighted by the rhythm in this poem. I was interested to read of your sense of unrequitedness because the impression I came away with, after reading the poem, was one of darkness-between-scenes (as opposed to a final darkness). As an artist, in the general sense, I can relate that darkness that is the unpredictability of a muse, the muse that can't be pinned down, is therefore perhaps always slightly elusive. Or perhaps not, if one accepts the relationship on those terms?

Thanks, I enjoyed reading this.

5:12 PM  
Blogger MB said...

Sorry: "I can relate to that darkness..."

5:13 PM  
Blogger Lhombre said...

MB: Thanks for stopping by. I appreciate your insight into not being able to "pin down" my muse. I felt that experience when I first began to realize just how deeply her influence is in my life and my art. The frustrations run down a long path of inconsistencies in the inner-dialogue with where the association was and lends itself to presently.

I also appreciate your description of a darkness that is intermittent. I think you may be right. There is "light" in that observation and hope as well. Thanks again.

5:33 AM  

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