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Depth Memory Shot & Solipsis
i.
it was
like a severe concussion
a fragrant flower forever imploding
a brilliant blue iris
from which a moist tear never unfolded
it was
a bold swipe of mascara
on a bundle of delicate organs
a tempest battered cove
of bruised frangipani petals,
roasted breadfruit and boiled châtaigne;
con las uvas de la playa bien exprimidas,
sin merced, ni jamás... misericordia.
ii.
y así, andaba yo
consciente de mi ser entero
con toda su "joyería"
uñas acrílicas de transparencia cristalina
dientes afilados de oro de la Orinoquía
de las ojeras profundas recién acuñadas
y los ojos tapados con monedas de plastilina
de mi pinta extremadamente pálida
pez indígena, y el ser...
dejado en blanco.
iii.
clownfish and anemone
anémona y pez payaso, y variopinto
two pallid upturned palms clasped
like the twin palms of a drowning sailor
dos manos
como dos alas gemelas
sagradas y suplicantes
frenetically intertwined in sexo simbiótico
flesh glowing like virgin alabaster
descending the spiral flight of stairs alone
one hand grasped firmly within the cup of the other
as if he were his own
belovèd son.
Depth Memory Shot & Solipsis©2011 by W.Gentieu
Comment
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Comment by Will Gentieu on March 5, 2013 at 9:06am
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Thanks Althea ~
Certainly all of those elements. When I was young I slipped on a dock and had a severe concussion as a result. Any blow to the head tends to drive the mind... into itself... for a while;
as we are also driven into the externalities of life, from the proximate of the now, towards the approximate... immersion... in the future... in solitary accompaniment with ones self. Some thoughts anyway... stranger in a strangely familiar land, always.
Saludos ~
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Comment by Althea Romeo-Mark on February 26, 2013 at 5:41pm -
Beautiful imagery. I sense irony, contradiction and ultimately tragedy in this poem. Tell me if I am wrong. I will read more of your work. I have too many pots on the fire right now but looking forward to spending more time here ( as soon as some of my creative cooking is done).
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Would be delighted to hear it Howard.
One of my regrets is that I don't have the voice of a Bukowski, a Nick Cave, or an Amiri Baraka let's say, to put these words of mine properly into the air.
The sound track of one of those videos on my page (Homenaje a Franklin Brito) is actually an excerpt from something I did with some musicians in Dublin.
Saludos ~ W.G.
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Comment by Howard Fox on February 3, 2013 at 6:05pm -
I have tried this again like your Araya verses as a freely song sung slowly to oneself with the tune of 'there is a train in spanish harlem' with a few variations as the breathing dictates. I really must try and make a recording of it sung, and get a version across to you. The differences between texts for singing and poetry is subtle, and this poem really sounds a wonderfully complex lyric when sung.
Kind regards,
Howard
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English translation of Spanish segments: (W.Gentieu)
...the beach grapes squeezed out
with no mercy, nor clemency ever.
thus, I walked
conscious of my entire being
of its shop full of jewelry
acrylic fingernails of crystalline transparency
sharpened gold teeth from the Orinoquía (Columbia)
of deep dark circles around the eyes, newly minted
and the eyes capped with plasticine coins
of my extremely pallid appearance
indigenous fish, and being
left blank... unfinished
...anemone and motley clownfish...
...two hands
like two, twin wings, sacred and supplicating...
Saludos ~ W.G.
Solipsis* - definition
NB- Comments welcome
© 2013 Created by Kris Rampersad.
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