poem: Note 1 penned on a night in January, 2014: for John

Somewhere once in the suburbs of Jersey,

a rift into another dimension,

    appeared, I think it happened

  at the sides of asphalt flyways

     just off Route 22, and it was fueled

   by over-enthusiastic neon and the tipping point

 of neo-bourgois excess.

It looked like ordinary street trash,

   and only one little boy thought

      to pick it up and look more closely,

     and he could never understand

afterwards why no-one else around him

    could see sideways, like he could.

But you see, when you look at things

   sometimes sideways, sometimes with clarity

       Jersey becomes a hollow shell

    and the vacuum was always filled

       with things that contradict nature-

     thoughts spiral like whirlwinds

          and the ground tilts purple.

and Lord knows how hard it is to live

    in a purple landscape when you are

         and always have been

    colored kaleidoscope.

    We can sit here and ask the why-fors

  for days and maybe get no truer

     answer than this:

it all really was a conspiracy, right

  from the beginning. Those who live

    in two dimensions make life hell

  for those who live in four. And even

fours cannot always comprehend

    the eights and nines.

Little boys with the ability to see

in living dimensions of color- they

        get tired of endlessly

  tying string that is always breaking

     around things of unspeakable beauty

that they try to share with us but

   that are constantly disintegrating

     in their hands, even as they speak,

     no matter how

  you care.

They need more patience

     and gentleness than you or I

  perhaps ever knew how to spare.

Author's Note

I finally found a few words for you after all, Shmoke. Sorry it took so damned long.

Reviews

[Horizon K.]

We see what we want to see, so it is rare, to find one who is ready, able, to see from the 4th, the 8th dimension, those sideways places that can't be walked in exactly, but can be traversed in such a mind, and so are brought into existence... Hopefully, they will let us know such places exist so we can see, maybe even step, outside of our bubbles, for a moment. Hopefully, they can enter those spaces, without losing thier footing, in this world...
Anyway, I loved this piece, the haunted, sideways, otherworldly vision you paint in here, was simply stunning. you too, can transport another, to these places. An incredible tribute, Marie.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thanks, Horizon. I am sorry you did not get much of a chance to know John before he left us. He did see into other dimensions, and he left us behind a road map for doing the same. There are a few on here who do that. I hold them very dear and precious indeed.

[lost girl]

I am mystified and saddened all at the same time. I adore what you wrote and that it is in tribute to an artist. I am saddened because I have two of these lil boys that look sideways ...perhaps they get it from me...I feel I am always turning my head to look at things clearer or shutting my eyes to see them and people think me crazed. My husband once asked me why I close the door to look out the tiny glass frames...he looked at me strangely when I said without thought...because they make better pictures:) but enough of my babbling. I adore your piece and am subscribing so I can read more. Thank you!

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you for such a kind, thoughtful, and interactive review, lost girl. I have no children of my own, but I have several bright and creative and gifted young people who have wandered into my life and made it special. I learn so much from them. I wish we had more tolerance as a society to see leadership and cuttign edge people, and to encourage them and let them teach us. maybe some day?

[Ken Simm.]

If I said this goes way beyond simple tribute I know you will understand.The pluralities in your work are always more than exceptional.

[Marie Anzalone]

But of course it is more than tribute. There is no way I could have written about someone so special unless/ until I had words directly form him to scribe. And you... thank you for knowing that.

[Corset]

This is so beautiful Marie, everyone knew him better than I but the few months that I did I could see what a caring person he was this stanza was perfect as this is how i saw him too:
Little boys with the ability to see

in living dimensions of color- they

get tired of endlessly

tying string that is always breaking

around things of unspeakable beauty

that they try to share with us but

that are constantly disintegrating

in their hands, even as they speak,

no matter how

you care.


I always dread this time of year, winter all the way until April after that mother nature is finished with her life cycling of death and rebirth, I seem to hold my breath till May then I start breathing again :) You have done a fine service, I think he would have been pleased to have such words.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank yuo for this review adn acknowledgment, Corset. You know it's funny- I find time slips away form me here because of the lack of defined seasons. You go about your daily business and suddenly, you turn around and it really is September already. Or January has passed. In the NE, each month was different. Here, they tend to trend towards each other, like rivers meeting at the bay I guess. I wonder if that does not contribute to the lack of a sense of urgency sometimes? There are some things that will haunt me for a long time, and one is, not having the time to respond to something he wrote to me shortly before. They say creative genius strikes hardest in our late 30s. What must that have been like for one who had no way to turn it off?

[h d e rushin]

nice tribute to a pretty nice dude..thanks for sharing this with us my friend.

dana

[Marie Anzalone]

I had to write, I had to share it. God, we have lost so much in such a short span, haven't we? Our friend, your daughter, Mandela, Seeger, etc. I can only hope they are being called home because they are supposed to guide the rest of us mere mortals through what comes next.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i like this poem lots...and take away something personal.

the idea that poets, even as little children, seem to see the world in different dimensions than most.

maybe we are just weird...but we see above and below what appears to be, even then, even when young..there is a between the lines for us...

magical journey in this poem.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thanks, jacob. In November, we lost one of the WC's most gifted poets. This was written for him. He did see in different dimensions.

[Emily B]

it is beautiful, he sometimes spoke about the traumas of his childhood, i think i saw a photo of him once as a little boy, and you penned it all expertly

[Marie Anzalone]

thank you for your acknowledgment of my words for him

[Marie Anzalone]

it means a lot

[Emily B]

never very far from jersey and the boy who could see