Saturday, March 05, 2011

I'VE BEGUN AGAIN construction of verses I call CONVERSATIONS WITH MYSELF. Every other stanza is the mirror speaking back to me. We'll see how it goes. I'll see if I can keep track of which of the stanzas are mine and which are the mirrors.

IF I PUT MY MIND TO IT

If I put my mind to it,
I might dream myself
Into another realm of existence,
A place where time and space
Aren’t considered in terms
Of how much of either a man has left.

But time is what you put on everyday
Of your ephemeral experience of life
On this spinning planet
Which itself is harnessed
To the eschatological time machine
That grinds everything finally to a halt.

Those clouds I love may be the best symbol
Of what life amounts to after all on earth
And perhaps throughout a universe
Of fathomless dimension and predictable
Only in the inevitability of change
Continually and finally of everything.

This preoccupation with the end of things,
Do you expect to nurture it forever?
You run the risk, you know, of missing out
On the joy, the beginnings, the celebrations
That are just as much a part of the scheme of things
As clouds that disappear suddenly in sunlight.

Can you see Julian at age six
And fail to see him also at age ninety?
His intelligence is older by far already
Than the seventy-two months of his life.
The smooth brow and firm chin
Will give way to sags and wrinkles.

This line of thinking betrays the nature
That attracted me to you.
Just yesterday you exulted in your cloud walking,
And I know what you really see in Julian.
It’s his potential for growth that fascinates you
Not his inevitable old age and death.

It’s those eyes of his that bring me back
From the end of things to the beginning.
Julian walked into my space and said,
“This is really a good place to be.
I think I’ll stay here awhile.
Why didn’t you show me this before?”

Any man who wants to join circling hawks
And soar among the clouds
And likes to spend time in Kindergarten
And twelfth grade English classes
And writes poetry every day
Can’t be a dyed in the wool eschatologist.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Jerral, It's fantastic! So you and so true. It's so true, isn't it? Imagining our last breath brings us closer to remembering our first...it's easy to start again because what you describe has always been a part of our growing...each day...breathe it in, all of it. Saying good night is only preparation for the next good morning, it's always been that way. At dinner tonight Logan and I were talking about all kinds of things we like to do, and planning a trip into "the city", an overnight in John and Jacqui's penthouse. We laughed a few times about cabs taking us to the wrong address, or trains taking us all the way to Canada and forgetting to let us off in Manhattan. He'll be six in three weeks. A toy Bear, our late pet, loved playing with what was on the dining room floor, put there by Arianna who found the box of Bear's toys. Logan stepped on it and it squeaked. He then mentioned that even though Bear died he would never forget him. I looked at Logan, smiled, and pointed to myself. Logan said, "Don't worry, even after you die I wont forget you." He then pointed to his heart. It's one of the forms the "good mornings" take and somehow it's all very OK. Keep on keeping on. Bob