Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Dry lake (still a lake) ...



The shadows are alive
    with my imagination;
  the dead and empty thrive
         with my imagination:

        Their fangs air, sharp and hot
                                  with my imagination.
              I'm soon but never caught
                                            with my imagination.

                       The last coat of daylight sparks
                                                           in my imagination
                           and oxidizes dark
                                                                               in my imagination.

                                 Then crickets clamor (more,
                                                                                                      with my imagination)
                                        for in the grass there's war
                                                                                                                   in my imagination.

                              And when, through blades, one falls
                                                                                                          in my imagination,
                                         that thrum of chirping stalls
                                                                                             near my imagination.

                                This path is bare, but then –
                                                                             with my imagination –
                          these woods are filled by men
                                                                            in my imagination,

                        Their wind-hearts pumping lust
                                                                in my imagination.
                               And if mine burns hotter (just
                                                           in my imagination)

                                  I'll blow back those fiends (all listening,
                                                                               in my imagination)
                                                            into light, and to non-existing
                                                                                      in my imagination.

                                                                         So this twilight becomes a song
                                                                                   in my imagination;
                                                                     dark birds, a choral throng
                                                                  by my imagination,

                                         Weaving chains before the sky
                                                                   in my imagination ...
                                                               and through them I will fly
                                                                                         with my imagination.

6 comments:

  1. Had a very dreamful day today – chased its tail-end with a pleasant run, made all the more stirring for the things I saw that weren't, once the blank shadows started spreading – 2 April 2013

    * Thanks Cristy R. (house on hill, road through trees – See Canyon), David K. (ceiling dome & stone heads & ardvark dead & plow – Greece/Bulgaria) and Brigitte H. (wonder in a mosquito net) for making this collage full.

    … also Houdini (visualizing beyond his predicament), news.povray.org (chains) and that little bird who launched from the dog yard at Harbor Animal Shelter while I was shooting video.

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  2. I found this piece's structure captivating! It reminds me of your earlier poem "Safe Enough to Cry" because the speaker is composed of two separate entities. In this case however, it seems that both voices are of a single person, just at different levels of consciousness. Based on your comment above, "dreamful day," I came to the conclusion that as the phrase, "in my imagination," moves out from under the lines of action/description across the page and back to its original position under them, the speaker goes into and comes out of dream sleep. I find this technique very interesting as it depicts the levels of the human mind perfectly. As we go into dream sleep some of our mind's functions do not hibernate, but run at the same level or higher level than they do during conscious states.

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    1. Not a dream-sleep, but a waking dream (keep your imaginative channels open for long enough in life, you can dream without sleeping ... it's like rediscovering that magic power of childhood: seeing what you are thinking).

      Happens to me every once-in-a-while (why I've never really felt the urge to experiment with hallucinogens).

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  3. I really enjoyed reading the poem “Dry Lake”. I especially liked the layout and format of the poem, as it repeatedly drew my attention to the repeated line “with my imagination”, which for me, illustrated the idea that life has endless possibilities if we set our imagination free. I think that the title has a lot of significance because it is saying that even though a lake is dry it is still a lake, meaning just because something is used up or gone does not mean it has no value. The speaker of the poem is imagining all of these scenes occurring in and around the lake even though they are not really happening. The diction and phrases used to describe the setting are very animated and vivid like “alive”, “sparks”, “clamor”, and “pumping”. Even though the lake is very different from the images described, “the dead and empty thrive” in the actual scene, because imagination is used to bring them to life. Even though these scenes do not physically exist in these moments, they exist to him, demonstrating how imagination allows us to see life and beauty. To me, the main message of the poem is that it is possible to see beauty in all things, even if they do not openly appear to be beautiful.

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    Replies
    1. Well-said. Imagination can be a danger when we don't see it as such (that is, when we distort reality with our imaginations and then respond to that image as reality), bit when we remind ourselves "This I see, and from this, I imagine ...," then imagination becomes a very powerful tool in our lives.

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  4. I really love the form of this poem and the way it makes your mind wander. As the poem widens and stretches apart it is harder to read the words fluidly and this gives the battle scene the confusing and unclear sense I would think belongs to a battle. The fact that it comes back together gives it closure and shows the mind coming back to it’s senses in a way. I saw it as the mind starting with a thought then going off on a tangent, only to come back to reality, an experience I have had many times.

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