Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Reversion (Ode to the Lackadaisical)

 

Reversion (Ode to the Lackadaisical)

 

Cry, scream, bleed,

              as the sun sinks behind

              the horizon’s teeth.

 

Ancient shapes appear in the darkness,

              raining

              their two thousand year old warning.

 

The past, present and future mould

              into a surge of grey.

              -like a cyclone.

 

A man screams as his toes are ripped out

              by the jaws of a mechanical beast,

              and are melted, to be used in car manufacture.

 

A baby cries as his breast is taken,

              his mother is to be used

              welding weapons for the poor.

 

I laugh and joke with my next door neighbour

              over the fence as we have a beer,

              “it’s been quite a good year.”

 

The soil turns to rock before my eyes,

              the leaves are turning brown,

              I’m feeling rather sleepy.


5 comments:

  1. I really love the last two paragraphs of this poem Mark. The way it wakes you up to the life of a man who simply belongs to a neighbourhood, yet amplifies those earlier visions of abstract turmoil or actual strife in the broader world.

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  2. Anonymous3:20 pm

    I think about this type of thing a lot how all around us bad or tragic things are happening precisely at the same time as we do something trivial/normal and vice versa (when our life gets turned upside down the rest of the world continues on oblivious). Interesting poem - along the lines of Williams poem 'Landscape with the fall of Icurus' - or is it more about not caring as the title suggest.

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  3. Thanks for the feedback guys.

    Gabrielle, you refer to my earlier poem '1 August 2009'?

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  4. Anonymous3:28 pm

    No I'm not referring to the earlier poem - it's just that both have a similar theme - the juxtaposition of tragic with normality. Or do I have the wrong end of the stick. Maybe I am superimposing my own unconsciousness - I relate so well to them.

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  5. Gabrielle: the beauty of poetry is that there is no wrong end to the stick, and the worst person to ask for meaning is the poet as they are too close to the subject.

    You have my intent spot on with the juxtaposition, your statement regarding the inverse of this poem highlighted a connection I had not recognised and provided for me one of those 'oh yeah, now I understand' moments that we all strive for. Thank you.

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