Wednesday, 16 Feb 2022
It is a strange feeling to come across a poem that you have composed, and yet have long since forgotten. I have no idea when or where I came across the words by Mallarmé that prompted this effort; and effort it must have been, given the complexity of ideas, no matter what you might think of it as a poetic piece.
Head tail and fore-edge turn as one cover
On a life-canto and, like church bells in
Thunder the familiar becomes strange.
The darkness I confront alone rings out
As a breaking wave on the shore that lays
Itself across the sands for the beach to
Inspect, at the turning point, before it
Scurries back to the deep. The sea petals
Opened and you rose erect to release
The bird, wings on fire, screaming as it fell
Into the sea. It was a brief exchange
Of souls. Lips kissed the dahlia shadow,
Yet drew back from the squeezed head of black seeds.
Tout au monde existe pour aboutir à un livre—
The mystery the grace and all the universe.
"Tout, au monde, existe pour aboutir à un livre." "Everything in the world exists in order to end up in a book" Stéphane Mallarmé.
© John Dunn.