What use does memory possess,
before retiring in this bed of matter,
beyond directing
the dispersal of perception
into other dreams
always forgotten?
All the remembering
was never meant to capture waves,
our belly laughter, the palm fronds
rustling, the seagulls calling
over wind. Yet, against wind,
I've constructed and renewed towers
and boulevards and monuments
in the name of names
I can't remember.
By evening, after the bloodshed
of questioning existence,
like men with sin
limping through a wasteland,
last questions remain.
Are dreams real in the sense
that they occurred, as the lights
of extinct and extant things in space
have kindled myths?
Why leave the earth to roam the stars?
This body is tired
and in that glittering expanse
above is the trail
it leaves behind.
v.3 Lost Isle, Last Idea
What use does memory possess,
before retiring in this bed of matter,
beyond directing the dispersal of perception
into other dreams
always forgotten?
All the remembering
was never meant to capture waves,
our belly laughter, the palm fronds rustling,
the seagulls calling over wind.
Yet, against wind, I've constructed
and renewed towers
and boulevards and monuments
in the name of names
I can't remember.
By evening, after
the bloodshed of questioning
existence, like men
limping with sin through wasteland,
last questions still remain.
Are dreams also real in the sense
that they occurred, as the lights
of extinct and extant things in space
have kindled myths?
Was their distance ever out of reach?
Perhaps I have already been
and that glittering expanse above
is only what is behind.
v.2 Lost Isle, Last Idea
What use does memory possess,
before retiring in this bed of matter,
beyond directing the dispersal of perception
into another dream
to be forgotten?
All the remembering
was never meant to capture
waves, our belly laughter, the palm fronds
brushing against each other, yet I've built
towers and boulevards and monuments
in the name of names
I can't remember.
By evening, after
the violence of questioning
existence, like men
limping with sin through wasteland,
last questions still remain.
Are dreams real, too, in the sense
that they occurred? Like how extinct
and extant lights of space kindled myths?
Was the distance ever out of reach?
Perhaps it has already been traveled
and the glittering expanse above
is only what is behind.
v.1 Lost Isle, Last Idea
What use does memory possess,
before retiring to this bed of matter,
beyond directing the dispersal of perception
into another dream
to be forgotten?
All the remembering
was never meant to capture
waves, our belly laughter, and the palm fronds
brushing against each other, yet I have built
towers and boulevards and monuments
in the name of names
soon dead to our descendants.
By evening, after
the violence of questioning
existence, like men
limping with sin through wasteland,
last questions still remain.
Are dreams real, too, in the sense
that they occurred? Like how the extinct
and extant lights of space kindled myths?
Was the distance ever out of reach?
Perhaps it has already been traveled
and the glittering expanse above
is only what is behind.
(03-15-2025, 06:07 AM)alonso ramoran Wrote: What use does memory possess, possess is an interesting word choice. not sure the comma is needed
before retiring in this bed of matter, to?
beyond directing the dispersal of perception not sure what is meant here
into another dream ...forgotten dream? to be forgotten?
All the remembering
was never meant to capture I think this part would be better phrased as a question.
waves, our belly laughter, the palm fronds waves, I think, is a vague image/idea. Our belly laughter is better, but the palm fronds again less impactful (needs some sensory detail)
brushing against each other, yet I've built maybe, ...yet I build. I now am not confident of my interpretation. See comments below.
towers and boulevards and monuments
in the name of names
I can't remember. could maybe move this line up.
By evening, aftermove 'the violence' up
the violence of questioning
existence, like men
limping with sin through wasteland,
last questions still remain. not sure about what is going on in this stanza relative to the previous
Are dreams real, too, in the sense
that they occurred? Like how extinct
and extant lights of space kindled myths? extinct and extant are opposites, but maybe that is your point? I like the kindled myths idea
Was the distance ever out of reach? between dreams and reality?
Perhaps it has already been traveled
and the glittering expanse above
is only what is behind.
v.1 Lost Isle, Last Idea
What use does memory possess,
before retiring to this bed of matter,
beyond directing the dispersal of perception
into another dream
to be forgotten?
All the remembering
was never meant to capture
waves, our belly laughter, and the palm fronds
brushing against each other, yet I have built
towers and boulevards and monuments
in the name of names
soon dead to our descendants.
By evening, after
the violence of questioning
existence, like men
limping with sin through wasteland,
last questions still remain.
Are dreams real, too, in the sense
that they occurred? Like how the extinct
and extant lights of space kindled myths?
Was the distance ever out of reach?
Perhaps it has already been traveled
and the glittering expanse above
is only what is behind.
Hey AR,
I have been pondering your poem for awhile. I like the exploratory tone which allows it to avoid the preachy trap. For me it has a surreal component which, I admit, is not my strong suit. Never the less, I have made several comments/suggestions above. S2 was a sticking point for me because there seemed to be a personal emotional connection starting, but that seemed to be lost by the end of the stanza. Specifically, my interpretation is that the narrator laments wasted efforts of remembering supposed heroes at the expense of more important and personal memories, but then that idea doesn't continue and I wished it was. My selfish wish is that you continue the ideas I construed in S2 throughout the rest of the poem.
Take care,
bryn
