Puzzling Reflections

 

 

 

 

 

Inside Out



Modern translations of St Paul said 'puzzling reflections'
in describing perception, with a taunting, haunting interplay
of light and shadow, never the same for two minutes together,
which made better sense to him than the King James image

To see 'through glass, darkly' was like tilting with a shroud
You couldn't tell what was on the other side of cloak and gesture,
whose storyline it was, and whose the wider plot, when to engage,
and how to abstract meaning from a colloquy already begun

He liked landscape art that shimmered through a summer haze,
nothing clearly defined, merely suggested, sketched and stippled
Precision was death, the vanity of nailing flesh to a cross,
hoping the spirit would not escape to recite its lore elsewhere

Whereas hyperrealism, all diehard hues, stirred menace by osmosis,
Magritte, Chagall, Picasso, hit the spot, dredging themes and schemes
from where it mattered most. Those artists knew a thing or two
about immanence, hypnagogic dreams and shapeshifting metaphor

Such designs granted form to feeling, which delivered its own relief
without any rationale, the need to decode, or the knife-twisting alarm
at having been jumped from behind into action that didn't fit the fable,
Hamlet and Hedda Gabler a Disney parody, the diapason trashed

Putting a foot in the wrong camp was a hazard of moving and breathing
There was seldom signage to say where you were, no cue as to what
came next in the pantomime of human exchange. You had to hang around
until the swirling atmospheres kindled a vision you knew meant business

One dusk, passing the Stage Door, he turned into the Square to confront
a revelation of community. There, in the foyer, under constellations of lamps,
theatre-goers were sipping and laughing and gesticulating behind glass,
no script, no hard and fast plot; the miracle of doors parting on proximity

Next thing he knew was a stifling warmth and billows of babbling energy
He’d thought to be among long-lost friends, in limelight, the jester at the party,
but the baffling palaver made him feel like a spectre, an outsider on the inside,
so that he fled into night’s embrace, all lacerating noise and winking alarms

 

 

 

from Mysteries of Light (collection in preparation)

 

#AutismAwarenessWeek

Comments 4

 
Stephen Evans on Friday, 30 March 2018 22:04

Interesting. Looking forward to the collection.

Interesting. Looking forward to the collection.
Rosy Cole on Saturday, 31 March 2018 18:50

Ooh, a reader! I'm quite giddy at the prospect :-) Have been living on crusts and ale in my attic for too long!!

Ooh, a reader! I'm quite giddy at the prospect :-) Have been living on crusts and ale in my attic for too long!!
Stephen Evans on Sunday, 01 April 2018 14:55

I hope at least the crusts were toasted with lots of butter.

I hope at least the crusts were toasted with lots of butter.
Rosy Cole on Monday, 02 April 2018 07:49

Not a chance of butter and very little prospect of crust while the diabolical empire that is Amazon holds sway!

Not a chance of butter and very little prospect of crust while the diabolical empire that is Amazon holds sway!
Already Registered? Login Here
Guest
Monday, 23 April 2018

Captcha Image

Latest Comments

Stephen Evans Be Secret and Exult
15 April 2018
Then I shall be secret and exult
Monika Schott Stop for a minute, or a week
15 April 2018
So true, Rosy. I can really feel that, being 'hustled and swept away into a storyline that doesn't b...
Rosy Cole Stop for a minute, or a week
15 April 2018
A life-affirming post, Moni, so vibrant, and its wisdom was never more needed. The world is desperat...
Rosy Cole Be Secret and Exult
15 April 2018
Steve, I'm not sure that either of us has fully understood this badly crafted poem, at least from th...
Monika Schott Stop for a minute, or a week
14 April 2018
Timely indeed, Di. Keep that feeling. ?

Latest Blogs

Stop and smell the roses, so they say. Force the halt, cease all activity apart from the necessity to breathe. Even if only for a few minutes, althou...
It is National Poetry Month here in the US, so I thought I would offer one from my favorites: To a Friend Whose Work Has Come to Nothing By Wil...
          Inside Out Modern translations of St Paul said 'puzzling reflections' in describing perception, with ...
The architecture of trees fascinates me. How do the branches know how to grow? Complexity theory? Fibonacci Sequences? Artificial intelligence? ...
Taking yearly pilgrimages started after my serendipitous journey to Sedona.  What made that such a pivotal point, was the juxtaposition of entrapment ...