Thursday, February 05, 2009

The Search for the Accomplice

Creative crisis.

Mental block.

Worms rise up out of the ground and confront me with their accusasations.

What amy I trying to do? What am I trying to find?

A sad fact of history for the man of ideas is that in the past, somebody had already done what you are trying to do, but better.
Search- mode for the font of poetry. Found a man named Hryhori Chubai.

He too was searching, searchng for an accomplice.
Let's see. Go along with him for a while.

--And when he looked
He saw no one there
On the path
Past the tree
Past the dog
Past the ornamental horses of green clay.

And then someone behind him said someone is coming
A thousand lonesome women are approaching
Bearing the faces of those he'd seen on the road to here.

Past the dog
Past the bird
Down this way
Past the horses of green clay.

And he heard the voices of those thousand women approaching
And behind them
A great poppy seed that shook the earth with its rumbling
Rumbling down the path of the horses of green clay. the path now before him.

And he turned around
As if to ask someone behind him
An accomplice
But he smelled smoke, perhaps a fire.
There was a fire behind him now.

And someone invisible answered, "Christ is coming".
And all the figures of the landscape of the future turned
To see behind them too,

--Where the monster
Poppy seed
Had stopped rolling.
A fire

And again, someone invisible said
Christ is coming.
All could see behind themselves a fire.

What's up here? Lent? The coming of Easter?
Should I ape old T.S. and try for an Ash Wednesday, apparently the inspiration for Mr. Chubai's poem?

Something is chasing me on this full moon.
And it's not fooling.


Charles Gramlich said...

I like that poem. Pretty interesting. GIves a hint of something more behind the scenes, something meaningful and compelling.

the walking man said...

"A great poppy seed that shook the earth with its rumbling..."

Read with an eye on Opium. Smoking it.

You got the block old man? Want a writing prompt?

Tell me what you did on July 13, 1974. Truth and honesty not required. said...


I called Dave about that date, but all I got was "Dave's not home."

I was actually a columnist for the now-defunct TOPIC Magazine out his way on July, l974. You find something? I tried to find archives of my old TOPIC column, but nothing up.

Yeah. Poppies.
Echoes of Coleridge, he of the Ancient Mariner.

"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree."

Had too good a time in the Sixties.
I could never pump gas today...Can't count any more.

Nice turn on the writing prompt.
...And thanks for the yeoman reseach in the blog just before this one.
I think you unscrambled the block.

Midnight said...

Perhaps the poem suggests, or glimpes at, the power and strength of our beings, which are sometimes affronted, in momentary glimpes of doubt, but which nevertheless infuse our lives, being triggered, by the audacity and fervency, of our resolve.

benjibopper said...

that's one of those poems i love without really understanding the meaning. it's the rhythm of the words, the images they create. it builds kind of a mosaic, but i'm having trouble getting a clear full picture, but that's ok. and in there is the story. this is what i've been working at lately, is how to play with words, make them fun, yet to never lose the story. reading some of my stuff of a few years ago, the story is lost under (pretentious?) wordplay. i'm taking some of the better stuff and editing it for story. said...

That Coleridge was a real cookie monster, wasn't he.

...And to have a hit song based on that theme a hundred and fifty years later!

Donnetta Lee said...

Benji's right. The poem has a rhythmical beauty. And interesting.

Something's got ahold of me, too. It has a can of spackle in one hand and a scraper in the other. Yikes. D said...

To the walls
To the walls.
No more tile for me.

I got Italian marble in the shower no matter how thin.Good thing the building is paying for it.