Yesterday, 05:37 AM
(Yesterday, 12:52 AM)rowens Wrote: Grin of Cognizance
Mystery, lack
of resolution; shadows that
aren't cast, remain through adulthood
in the town we're born;
the moon waxing beyond the field where there used to be no house
recalls childhood as the sun, a ball of yarn,
dethreaded by the cat;
he's smiling, all cats
girls in my heart of hearts
(my loins);
somehow escorted, like a high boy on angel-glue
to prom: those figures stand as druids
over anxiety-beds, and scatter
when, waking the good grey bard,
knuckles as sweaty as grass.
That night at the fork, where I tried
to trade my soul for several girls
round my age;
and how he laughed:
the goblin.
Today, the moon wanes;
sun bright and that mama of loons
visible: the Devil sleeping like a foreigner on the job.
I smile too.
It feels like a strong poem, but I'm not sure what to make of it. The title confuses me. We begin with a big dose of abstraction: mystery, lack, resolution, adulthood. Even the one concrete image, "shadows," are "not cast," so negated. This all feels thematic and intentional so I go with it.
Second stanza is much more compelling for me with the provocative image of the sun as a ball of yarn (somewhat familiar) being dethreaded by a cat (totally novel and arresting).
The progression into (my loins) is deliciously enticing, a lot of good confessional energy follows, though I also lose track of where we are and what is happening. The disorientation feels mostly productive, and sometimes just disorienting. Can't make heads or tails of the knuckles. Cool sound though, throughout.
Love the mama of loons. Last line is a weird note to end on. Poem is very weird. I fux with it.