notebook entry 02.11.11 and 02.12.11

Ricky and I did some research, discovered within the Irish traditions there exists a Saint Brendan, patron of whales, due to an elaborate story detailing a voyage across the Atlantic Ocean. Much debate remains focused on the accuracy of the tale—perhaps it can help generate more child-Brendan poems—build a connection with his koi-like mouthing, asking for food and the Saint's adventures on the seas.

Ironic. He called out just then, before I completed the final word. As if knowing our world tilted around his presence, his satisfaction. At the moment, before sleep holds me down again, I’m considering creating a poem centered around the midnight feedings—as just now the two of us swayed softly in the crooked mirror in his room, cradling his half sleeping form into a tight rhythm of security and formula. Is there folklore discussing crooked mirrors? Ours cannot be straightened due to a designer flaw in the back of the metal frame—still, it captures the image: father and son, reveals a portion of my new self I thought would not form. The course of the new path leads to a strange location, which sounds as a forced line, doesn’t it? The analogy needs reworking—but I like the notion of multiple applications for the definition of ‘course’—

course of current
course of fate
course at dinner
of course
school course

We stand reflected within a crooked mirror: father and son…

Stumbling in dark / until afterwards, framed within the crooked mirror, / self and baby

dark: unknowable, un-seeable, sullen, hard to understand, gloomy


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