It Follows
Like the wintering
language of violets,
I make no sound at all.
You leave.
In the garden,
rumors of blackbirds praise Beckett
for excusing the pimp
who stabbed him.
who stabbed him.
The bearded dragon lizard sits upright
and cocks its head,
producing rain.
A massive bud appears
on the green wattle plant,
spreading wild fires.
Lady Gaga performs
in a rotting hall
and termites eat faster.
A Buddhist teacher
sends himself to hell,
saving your soul.
I sing your blood's song
and the Aurora borealis
shimmers in your organs.
You return.
© 2010 by Kathryn Feigal. All rights reserved.
© 2010 by Kathryn Feigal. All rights reserved.
If my K was silent, I'm im
ReplyDeleteMy short poem for you today.
Kim
Loving your poem and the aurora that I miss too.
My throat constricted to think of the silence like the wintering language violets causing someone to leave.
ReplyDeleteKassie, you're not going to deflate on us, are you, once April is over and the poetry tempest quiets?
Hmm...
ReplyDeleteMy significant other loves it.
I really like the imagery but have trouble understanding it as a whole.
I've been staunchly told that I was thinking too much... That I just needed to feel. I am feeling, I am feeling...delighted confusion. I come away with a bemused smile saying, "Huh?"
I sang your blood's song
ReplyDeleteand the Aurora borealis
shimmered in your organs.
You returned.
I do so love this.
NUMINOSITY - I had to read your short poem over and over before I got it. If my 'd' was silent, I'd still be dim. At a deeper level, my nickname, Kass would make me a you-know-what.
ReplyDeleteOh, LESLIE - I like your reading better. My intention was that the woman imagined the man wanted to hear a certain language like wintering violets, a very specific language that, because of the disparity between male and female brains, she was unable to produce. She was shut down for the trying. I went back and took the coma out so it could be read with your intention as well.
I might need a rest after April. Actually, Im taking a little rest before that - going to St. George with a friend. That's why I'm trying to get ahead of the poem-a-day game.
ALESA - I am now going to ruin this poem for you by explaining it. First, read my comment to Leslie, oh right, you already have. Now, consider this: When a man leaves a woman, she clings to indisputable facts, yet she is wrenched, torn apart. These facts don't help the situation. A pimp actually did shoot Samuel Beckett (he didn't die from that). Experts have studied each of these phenomena: when a certain lizard stands up and (possibly) cocks his head, it rains in a region in South America; when a bud appears on that plant, it probably indicates a certain condition of soil that dries vegetation quickly - producing fires; scientists studying termites noticed that when rock music was played, they ate faster; a Tibetan Buddhist monk actually did commit his soul to hell, believing it would save souls. The woman, being crazed by abandonment, thinks these things are whacky, but true, so she creates something as whacky which she believes is true: "If I sing and pray his name with every cell in my body, from my blood, from my bones, he will hear it. He has to hear it. It is shattering my whole body as I think about how much I love him. How could he miss this?" - He doesn't. He comes back.....Yeah, I know, it's a fantasy. That's why it's in the poem.
Oh JONAS, me too. I feels it.
Sometimes a poem will hit me in a literal way, but this one is lyrical and sings in a fantasy come to life sort of way. I have to go back and read it aloud again, but I am so glad you did give the background and context for your lines, as a whole new meaning emerged afterwards. Awesome!
ReplyDeletethe language of violets
ReplyDeletespeaks volumes;
the silence of space
and cold, black winter nights
I wish I were meeting you in St. George, not such a long drive for me. I'd love to do that someday.
ReplyDeleteWV - goingi. I hope you and your friend are goingi away simply for pleasure.
VICKY - I'm glad I didn't ruin it for you. There is still a lot more behind this poem, but it really is up to the reader to nosh on it.
ReplyDeleteyou wrote: "If I sing and pray his name with every cell in my body, from my blood, from my bones, he will hear it. He has to hear it. It is shattering my whole body as I think about how much I love him. How could he miss this?" - He doesn't. He comes back....."
ReplyDeletethis does not belong to women alone, and how futile and the shimmering in one's organs can resonate until there is no longer any sound to be heard above the roar
BADGER - I'm stunned. Blown over. "...and the shimmering in one's organs can resonate until there is no longer any sound to be heard above the roar."
ReplyDeleteYes. We've all been there. Men too. So glad to hear you relate on the cellular level. Ever tried doing poetry besides your photography?...oh wait, you just did. My comments keep going out of order because I think we're all writing at the same time.
"the language of violets
speaks volumes;
the silence of space
and cold, black winter nights"
LESLIE - We should plan this. I'm going with a friend who has a 2nd home in St. G. She is a fun friend and we will hike and bike and get massages. I wish I could talk her into driving over to Vegas. Maybe I can.
ReplyDelete@BADGER - My explanation to Alesa was a woman-to-woman thing so I explained the poem as it applied to a woman's turmoil. I meant no slight to men. Of course it applies to everyone.
ReplyDeleteKass,
ReplyDeleteWhat Badger said. I only understood after your explanation to Alesa but it steals me and I give it a tear.
AJ
I'd love to get together any time, Cookie, and hope we will sometime.
ReplyDeleteIn case the Badager gets distracted or shy (both are possibilities), I am going to tell you that he has written poetry since the 1960s and still has much of it in tattered journals and other media. I was fortunate to have some of that poetry written to or about me. It's damned heady stuff.
AJ - Every time I see your initials, it kind of shocks me because my dad's name was Alvin Joseph and he used AJ a lot. I even bought him an AJS Stormer tee shirt (it's a motorcycle). "...it steals me and I give it a tear." - is also very poetic. More.
ReplyDeleteLES - Did you mean to type Badager? Is he a bad ager? That's hilarious. Shy and poetic. That's a sexy combination.
Waahhh! No, it was a typo and typos embarrass me. I'm usually a better editor. Besides, even if he was bad, I wouldn't say it publicly, but privately and directly to him. I'm more about trumpeting his positive achievements. He's a self-deprecating artist with talents in so many areas.
ReplyDelete'I sang your blood's song' goes down as one of the most beautiful lines of poetry I've ever read.
ReplyDeleteERYL - Really? Thanks.
ReplyDeletethis is an astounding rendering of molecular love, how we vibrate together, tuning forks entraining each other into harmony-or disharmony.
ReplyDeletemy heart damn near stopped when i read this.
I've written only one poem in my life. It was about my dogs and I wrote it in junior high.
ReplyDelete"There once was a canine named Min
who'd rather be outside than in.
But when bribed with a treat
she came in on fast feet
and gulped it down neat as a pin."
Yeah...all that talent and no one discovered me...
@ Maria ~ I happened to stop here again today and you'd just popped up. I believe your offering is a limerick, by definition, and a sweet one. Don't sell yourself short!
ReplyDeleteKass may I borrow a line to try my hand at this form.
ReplyDelete"The language of violets" in tones of black velvet was the image that came to mind but not the line I'd like to use.
You are creating something special with this endeavor. I love the dialog around each poem as much as the poetry itself.
TAG - Borrow away. I look forward to what you produce. Thanks for asking.
ReplyDeleteI love it! I'm very glad you explained it because I was not aware of many of those cause-effect connections.
ReplyDelete