We who with songs beguile your pilgrimage / And swear that Beauty lives though lilies die, / We Poets of the proud old lineage / Who sing to find your hearts, we know not why ... (James Elroy Flecker)
Showing posts with label G. Show all posts
Showing posts with label G. Show all posts

14.4.24

The Song, ‘Suzanne’


Because I’d never heard it before, though you knew it at once.

Because we were sitting together in a dimly-lit café in Sanur.

Because it was clandestine, and longed-for, and finally happening.

Because the air was warm and fragrant and the place empty but for us

(because it was back in the seventies, the tourist boom only beginning).

Because it was Neil Diamond singing, and his voice was golden.

Because later you gave me Leonard Cohen’s poems and his two novels.

Because the song was so romantic, and being in Bali was so romantic.

Because when we did, our loving in the lamplight was beautiful, magic.

Because you told me in tones of wonder, ‘So strange. I’m in love with you, 

and I’m not in love with you’ and I replied, ‘Well, I hope you’re 

in love with me and not in love with me,’ and you said fervently, ‘I am!’

Because I couldn’t find any past-life karma between us, which meant 

to me you were simply a gift from Heaven, out of the sheer blue sky.

Because although we couldn’t be forever, I could fault you for nothing.

Because you went on to be happy, and I went on to be richly fulfilled.

Because when I wrote my most famous erotic poem I was craving you.

Because of that deserted beach we walked, meeting two naked hippies.

Because the smoke from your joint made curlicues up the walls.

Because you loved literature and music and art and trees and the sea.

And because it’s a truly, uniquely, brilliantly evocative song, let’s face it.

For all these reasons and more, the song ‘Suzanne’ still turns me inside-out.




The NaPoWriMo prompt for today was to write an anaphoric poem, starting every line with the same word. The Poem A Day prompt was to write an ekphrastic poem, inspired by a particular work of art of one's choice. (We usually think of ekphrastics as being inspired by paintings, but any other art form may be used, including a piece of music.)



 

20.7.21

Heading in Different Directions

Heading in Different Directions


The one I remember 

as the most romantic

gave me Leonard Cohen:

poems, novels, songs.


How soon it came 

to distances, things

we couldn’t untie;

to sorrow and goodbye.


Just a station on my way?

Oh yes, and I on his.

Until the night grew older. 

Sound of wheels moving.


Since then, what long

good journeys both,

diverging ... then briefly,

later, waving across tracks.


Neither would wish

to have missed

our fine, separate travels.

Nor can we go back.


Yet resting place 

was turning point –

our pause for warmth

at that waystation.



Should I credit Leonard Cohen for a few of these lines? Perhaps ... but I've changed them a bit.


Written for Weekly Scribblings #79 at Poets and Storytellers United, where the prompt was to be inspired by the word 'waystation'. 


26.4.18

Wrong Men


Poetry Month, day 26

For A list with a twist at "imaginary garden with real toads" we are asked to create our own list of five items to write about. What I haven't done is name my – er – items, but I've listed them by other characteristics, and the title tells you the category.


Wrong Men

The ship's deck
cold under stars.
A hidden corner;
your warm hands.

Your father advised,
two years later:
Don't marry. You, 
sadly persuaded, obeyed.

            ***

Dazzling dancing man,
lover of jazz ...
we both were.
I still am.

Oh long ago
so briefly wed,
wild gambling man ...
our parting sobs.

            ***

You bent deliberately 
for that kiss.
I reached up, 
standing on tiptoe.

Lamplight and incense,
our mingled hair.
But the secrets
broke us later. 

            ***

Your face appeared
always sunlit, eyes
blue-green oceans
for my swimming –

yet you lived
in engulfing dark.
Until your escape 
forever into light.

            ***

Our lovely laughter!
How you delighted
my foolish heart,
sweet wicked boy.

Knew you fae – 
forgot those can't
attach humanly; also
I can't fly.