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moonsphere
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NO EYELIDS
the only thing i can do is meditate
and avoid feeling rather rot and rubbish
about who the hell am i and also deny
that my energy explores to stray
though the people (who are mirrors) decieve
and continually decieve the height of heaven
themselves acting as lucid paralysis
forever lost on purgatorial planets
a happy hint, or glimmering glimpse
the divine story will always be told
in the cradles of a gibberish moonsphere
Reading this again, I realize
Reading this again, I realize that I shorchanged my comment earlier. Yes, it does remind me of Mallarme, but I failed to say why---and for that, I apologize. Like the best of the Symbolists, you take abstractions (height of heaven, lucid paralysis, gibberish moonsphere---and I will come back to that one in a bit) and collide them with reality (mediation, the denial of the energu, and a glimmering glimpse), the way that atoms colide in a star's core and create new light and energy as a result of that collision. Those collisions are the means by which the sun keeps life going on earth---and, as a Poet, you use words the way the sun, or any other star., uses atoms. I do not say this lightly, but I am convinced it is quite applicable to your artistic skill. I look forward to more of your poems like this one, as you continue to extend your verbal accomplishments.
Starward
Gracias
Something of Mallarme will be the next book I search to purchase for my little library. You've got me interested enough. Plus it will be nice to perhaps study and know what is actually meant, and to share thoughts like a sort of book club avocation.
bananas are the perfect food
for prostitutes
For your library, I will make
For your library, I will make the following recommendation. In October, 1978, prior to the 20th (I cannot be more accurate than that), a wonderful poet came to the college where I was, then, a Junior; and, as she had arrived earlier than expected and the English department did not know what to do with her in the meantime, they asked me to give her a tour of the campus . . . and to take my time. She recommended to me the poems of Wallace Stevens (whose poetry I had hitherto avoided), with these words---"He makes you work, but he pays you back for the effort." I began to read him that very week. I did not understand what I read until 1982; and then, it was only the beginning of the process of understanding. I have never stopped reading him, I understand more now than I did in 1982, but I do not understand all of it. But he has paid me back, with a very high interest rate, since 1978. The titles of many of his poems are whimsical ("Frogs Eat Butterflies, Snakes Eat Frogs, Hogs Eat Snakes, Men Eat Hogs" is probably my favorite), and some of his endling lines are hilarious (my favorite of his ending lines is, "Goodbye, Mrs. Papadopolus, and thanks!"). Mallarme has fewer poems to study, and is a good starting place. But please, at some point in the future, obtain a collected Stevens. You won'y go wrong with Pop Stevens, and he will pay you back.
Starward
I mean this as a compliment:
I mean this as a compliment: the power of your imagery and your phrases constantly reminds me of the great Mallarme. Bravo!
Starward