Vesper II

Take me to the middle
of nothing where grass

is cropped to make a quilt
for lying with autumn earth.

Where my mind, my body,
have nowhere to go but up

toward the origin of sound
lifting like song sparrows

Reviews

[Christoph]

This is hard to visualize for me. Not because there's nothing to see, but because there are so many different images coming to mind from a simple series of cues.

I walk out into this vast meadow, the grass turns to a pattern of tilled earth, then a grove with no trees but a floor covered in orange and yellow leaves, next to a protruding, grassy cliff like something from the Falklands, then I'm floating between great stone spires toward a tree, upside-down, rooted in the sun.

This poem is a Bjork music video. I'm sure I've done it wrong, again, but I like messing these things up.

[Eilis]

I don’t think there’s a wrong way with poetry. Well, sure there is, but for me it’s a lot about imagination and so I love your response.

A Bjork music video, haha. I can work with that. Thanks, Christoph.

[Gerald Parker]

A wonderful state of mind to be in - in the middle of nothing. I'm reminded of a time when I was about 17 and I was cycling in the countryside. I lay down in the middle of a grassy field and stared up at the sky and let myself feel being whirled round space on the edge of the earth with no city sounds just birds overhead. Your poem brings to mind the sound of bird song which to me always sounds sweeter in the evening.

[Eilis]

Some memories always seem to remain vivid. Thanks for sharing that, Gerald. I do love an evening bird chorus.

[Samuel Dickens]

Deeper meanings often evade me, so these words take me to the grassy field where I lay down and gaze up at the clear, blue sky. In my youth, I did this many times. Now old and not very good at getting up when I'm down, I enjoy the experience in my mind's movie theater.
Growing up so poor, I never had a very good winter coat. When the temperature was low but the sun's rays warm, I enjoyed lying down in tall grass where there was no wind. Rather like a warm nest, it was. Thank you for the gentle trip back.

[Eilis]

Thank you for sharing that memory with me, Samuel. That’s exactly the sort of feeling I had in mind when I wrote the poem. Solitude and peace intermingling. No need for the human world.

I always appreciate your thoughtful comments. Thanks again.

[kentuck14]

A wonder prayer/poem!!! I have images in my mind of the "origin of sound." It takes humility to ask such a thing.
T

[Eilis]

Thanks, Tom. I do try to practice humility. Not sure I’m always good at it. I know I’m not always good at it. But I try. It’s every calling out, though, isn’t it.

[kentuck14]

Yes . . . it is . . . for "those who have ears to hear"

[Robert Trakofler]

As a drummer and a hummer:) this place you write of reminds me of the sweet spot pon the head of a drum there is a sweet spot of strike and a sweet spot of tuning to every drum when you strike the head just right and at the right beat a phantom strike will resound... one that you don't actually make but one that evolves from the perfect repetition of the beat... A third rhythm appears within your playing that resonates in your core from the core of the instrument synchronizing you in a revelation:) to the origin of the sound

[Eilis]

Very cool connection, Robert. I’m no drummer, but I tinker with piano and violin and music is kind of my second language, so I get it. Thanks for sharing that little walk through the drummer’s world.

Always nice to hear from you.

[gram linski]

this poem floats like a feather in the wind, loved this,

[Eilis]

Thank you, Gram. That’s a lovely, meditative image. I’ll bask in it a bit.