Self and reality. Symbol and language. Myth and image. Memory and consciousness.
Dream and unreality: locus communis.

Friday, August 8, 2014

broken shards of your name

Earlier in the week, I was trying to remember the name of a song for a reference point for a blues poem idea, for expressing a personal tragedy in the shape of a story-poem: the loss of a partner to war, being told of the loss— the scraps of ideas keep gathering in various pages of my journals:

four men at the front door announcing the news— a name wrapped in a flag; wych elm budding, leaves blossoming early—
four men                    four seasons of the year 
four elements: earth, wind, fire, water
four cardinal points of a compass
talking to the deceased directly: they gave me your name on the front porch, fumbling their words—

sniper           roadside        
artillery         armored car

within the shell of your name      (3.5)
broken shards of your name      (3)

your father was in the back of the house      (5)
the day they came to deliver       (4)
your name wrapped in a worn flag      (3.5)
134/ under the folds of his rolled up sleeves, in the shirts he always wears for work, in here he tucks segments of his guilt, small squares of fabric, torn edges of red cloth—

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