A Surreal Day [Revision]

(Letting Go of Julian)

1.

The thorn in my eye makes it weep, not bleed. I cover it with my hand, to watch, one-eyed, a gigantic white-haired man who ages years as I look. When I can see again two-eyed – the barb withdrawn from an eye dimmed but not entirely wrecked – it is to observe glass flowers shatter in front of me suddenly. I forget the man who loomed so large; forget how, daily, hourly, he is shrinking even as I fail to watch.

2.

What is the nature of reality?

As my friend drives us to another town

for ‘TheTrust Fall’ movie that we missed here,

the pollen-heavy miles inflame my eyes.

In a strange, surreal state, I watch the screen

with a hand covering each eye in turn 

(to cut glare, soothe pain) as we all observe 

a far less transient torture, long-term,

likely to be fatal. It’s clear the man 

is not villain but hero. How can we 

save him? It needs all of us to keep on!

Home, I manage to smash a favourite

glass. Upset, I forget Assange – once more

blanking out that we live in the unreal.

(Written before Julian Assange’s recent, unexpected release.)

[Revision  of  I Tell You, its Been a Surreal Day (prose poem) posted 3 April '24, and its remix, Letting Go of Julian (American sonnet) posted 17 April.]

I'd welcome some critical feedback on this post. As you see I decided to use both the original piece and the remix as parts of a whole. Does that work, do you think? Or should I choose only one of them? And if so, which?

I'm sharing this with Poets and Storytellers United for Friday Writings #137: At the Last Minute. It was of course written earlier, not for this prompt; I choose it for that because Julian's subsequent release (only 12 weeks  after I saw the movie and wrote the first piece) came at the last minute.

Letting Go of Julian

What is the nature of reality?

As my friend drives us to another town

for ‘TheTrust Fall’ movie that we missed here,

the pollen-heavy miles inflame my eyes.

In a strange, surreal state, I watch the screen

with a hand covering each eye in turn 

(to cut glare, soothe pain) as we all observe 

a far less transient torture, long-term,

likely to be fatal. It’s clear the man 

is not villain but hero. How can we 

save him? It needs all of us to keep on!

Home, I manage to smash a favourite

glass. Upset, I forget Assange – once more

blanking out that we live in the unreal.

[See revised version, posted 3 Juky '24.]

The NaPoWriMo prompt was to write an American sonnet, i.e. more loosely structured than the strict sonnet form. (But I chose to keep 10-syllable lines, though not in iambic pentameter.) 

The Poem A Day prompt was to remix one of our old poems, so I turned Day 3's surreal prose-poem into a sonnet.

“War is over! If you want it.”

“War is over! If you want it.”

– John Lennon and Yoko Ono

Who doesn’t want war to be over?

All of us dream of peace, don’t we?

Remembering John and Yoko, we imagine …

Instead of distant heaven, a paradise on earth, 

Simply living as one, sharing our wealth.

Or so he sang. As they built their world of love.

Violence, they tried to say, is not the answer

Ever. Yet violence was the full stop to his song.

Remember John and Yoko, their peace shattered.

If you want it, war is over. We swear we want it.

Funny how war persists, through all our history.

You don’t want war. I don’t. We don’t. Yet we empower

Our Governments – ours – which always find reasons.

Under our veneer, we are still squabbling on playgrounds.

We are still fighting for possession of the best toys

And to stand on top of the fort. Girls as well as boys.

Not all girls, but too many of the few in power: 

Thatcher springs first to mind. Not all boys either, but….

It’s a case of who profits, isn’t it? Somehow there are still 

Too many who want power and possession more.

For Weekly Scribblings #82 at Poets and Storytellers United, Magaly invites us to be inspired by the quotation I've used as my title (and as an acrostic).

Meanwhile (and because I am committed to not staying silent in the face of injustice) this is not at all unrelated – especially the opening bit: