Could sense its slivery silvery self--
Didn't need the sun to light it....
I'm de-lighted
Deeply, watching, shivering;
Sometimes it hides,
But it is!
And it is today--
Hiding!
I will go rising and hiding, too,
Where it is spacey and anechoic.
Room, room--I will find a vacuum!
Does it make you mad that no one sings of you?
Does it make you sad that no one paints your face?
Are you not the font of sight and sound?
Those who play, they say
The impossibility of silence is the future of music.
I'll add if I may,
The impossibility of darkness is the future of light.
Na na na, hey hey hey,
See how I play?
Moonfall, fall away.
Echoes in shadows betray the day.
You are the new moon
Dear missing one
Flying between me and the sun....
Go on, be gone
With your coy decoys--
I can lie low like you
Or do nothing as you do--
I will go rising and hiding, too,
Where it is spacey and anechoic.
Room, room--I will find a vacuum!
Does it make you mad that no one sings of you?
Does it make you sad that no one paints your face?
Are you not the font of sight and sound?
Those who play, they say
The impossibility of silence is the future of music.
I'll add if I may,
The impossibility of darkness is the future of light.
Na na na, hey hey hey,
See how I play?
Moonfall, fall away.
Echoes in shadows betray the day.
You are the new moon
Dear missing one
Flying between me and the sun....
Go on, be gone
With your coy decoys--
I can lie low like you
Or do nothing as you do--
I shall lie high!
You can't see me resigning
Sore and nameless
(O honest silence, O!);
You'll never see me crying.
And though you pull and push and pull,
I'm not bound to the earth
Sore and nameless
(O honest silence, O!);
You'll never see me crying.
And though you pull and push and pull,
I'm not bound to the earth
I'll take to the air
And kiss you
Thievishly, feverishly
There.
Good night, new moon.
You will see me soon.
There.
Good night, new moon.
You will see me soon.
6 comments:
I like this one, very nice job! I wonder if you are a psychologist or philosopher as described by David Brook's column today.
I suspect you are a philosopher who is in search of a psychologist.
Some things are written in a state of sadness. Some things are written in a state of joy. This one emerged while working through a state of inner turmoil.
It's a much different voice than any I've used before. Taunting, willful, mocking, obscure. Why, I wonder?
I'm not really sure what this one's about. I'm still interpreting it. Your tongue-in-cheek comment may have a grain of truth -- it feels like some elements of the unconscious surface here.
It looks like this poem has to do with seeing what cannot be seen, hearing what cannot be heard, and pursuing doggedly what wishes to remain hidden to the point of the pursuer's complete self-exposure.
Some things do not wish to remain hidden, rather they must remain hidden. That will never change. Dogged pursuit will not be fruitful in such cases.
And even if it bore fruit, it would be like The Apple. After a bite, it would not be what you were looking for after all.
Are you saying that what must remain hidden is concealed for its own good and the good of the other?
Of this, you seem absolutely confident. And I can only shake my head and say, as I said in another context, "Oh, but for you, whatever you wish, let it be."
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