January 31, 2011
Monday Poem
I have trouble with old pics
their sweet bitterness
their cutting edge
their tricks
—a daughter’s mittens
hung from cuffs
laid out in kodachrome
a taunt of time. Enough.
I’d rather mine old nuggets
upturn what’s scattered
in my skull —the gold
stick with what
my head will hold
I do not take nostalgic risks
The photobox stays
beneath the bed
with jewel cases of bygones
in code on disks
When my memory goes
it will not matter
I may not even know the aliens
who peer from three by fours
or are splashed on screens
in pixel splatters
Love is best as it occurs
life too;
Now is breath’s agency
Love and life are only inside time
not frozen
not shot with poignancy
not both a blur
Jim Culleny
Jan 29, 2011
Jan 29, 2011
Posted by Jim Culleny at 12:25 AM | Permalink
Comments
Beautiful
Posted by: N | Feb 1, 2011 2:34:47 AM
Hey Jim,
Cool poem ! Also I would like to remark on the "screens" with their "pixel scatters". Recently, I was trying to write something on paper which had "... on paper" in it. When I was compiling it online, I was stuck between "..... on paper" and "... on paper and screen"; the latter was not working to my satisfaction and the former was not fully true :) Funny how our computer habits affect our writings. How do you navigate that or do you even have to think about it ?
Sumiran
Posted by: Sumiran | Feb 1, 2011 11:26:43 AM
Sumiran--
I think about it because I think a poem should be accurate, but maybe a poem can be too accurate. A poem probably shouldn't read like a foot-noted treatise (at one extreme) nor (at the other) like some alien fastasy so disconnected from reality a reader can't get a handle on it.
In your example, there are probably still enough people around who know what "on paper" means, or who are able to translate the term to correspond to technological advances. So... either way.
I'd worry about sounding archaic when paper disappears.
But maybe that's just me being archaic.
Posted by: Jim | Feb 1, 2011 12:00:22 PM
Way back in the day, when birth control pills were newish and college girls ate them for breakfast, I had a friend who later became a poet whom I won't name here. She was concerned how to incorporate "Birth control pill" into poetry. Like, scansion? Like, rhyme scheme? Like what? Finally, she discovered it rhymed with window sill. As a consequence her juvenalia is littered with images of lonely girls ready for sex, defended against pregnancy, and sitting at their windows. I think poets who make online references to the physical tools of their craft today are having an analogous difficulty. But, whaddya gonna do? Discover that captcha rhymes with rapture.
And, yes -- a beaut of a poem!
Posted by: Elatia Harris | Feb 1, 2011 12:42:57 PM
Jim, you said: Now is breath’s agency
Love and life are only inside time
So is poetry. Needn't worry even if paper becomes archaic.
Now, a poem that rhymes captcha with rapture may have a very short life.
Posted by: Ruchira | Feb 1, 2011 7:52:49 PM
Post a comment