Wednesday, January 22, 2014



She disappeared into the fog
my Life-Bird.
At night I watch cold, scolding stars,
by day I lift a hoping face
toward a granite sky
that devours my eyes
with bitter mists.

She vanished like my youth,
and I had not a clue to how or when
or where the days had passed,
melted dumbly like morning dew;
becoming memories
on the walls of my
youth .

Fierce were my days,
passionate my loves,
I wove a tapestry of life–  my spirit blossomed then
like buds in spring.

Where has it gone, the life?
fled without a sign,
I see my image erased,
Inside indifferent eyes
of a proud generation
that cannot even cry.

And still I wait
for the mists to lift,
and still I stare
into unyielding sky,
whistling, calling, begging,
come back Life-Bird,
sing again for me ,
I am not ready
to let you

This is a very special poem, asking so little and requesting so much.

The extended imagery of inclement weather takes us from dejected detachment to dissolving support, always with a yearning. Memory may cling to the walls of youth ‘like morning dew’, but it does so ‘dumbly’, bearing no song for the alienated poet, who would never be ready for abandonment.

Life marches on and March saw beauty flourishing in the rich fabric of a thriving life-force.

I like the way ‘fled without a sign’ answers the question of where life disappeared to, without beginning a new sentence. Compared to the fierce passion of the previous stanza, this one is clearly lower case. The granite sky that opened the poem is still overhanging the mood. Compounded by ‘indifferent eyes / of a proud generation’, life can be hard.

The bitterness of the eye-glaze may yet be mobile. All of the forces of drama are employed, ‘begging’ a reunion . . . please come back, ‘my Life-Bird’ with all that you represent. This poem requests so much and asks so little.


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