The Hill-Top Exile, Dreaming Still

100 Themes Poem and Prompt: “The Hill-Top Exile, Dreaming Still”

Themes of separation and exile seem to be the golden thread running through my poems. I’d almost say it was my “poetic mode.” Or mood.

But then, perhaps exile is the essential mode of all poets … since, after all, to be human in this world is to be an exile. All of us long for perfect communion, and all fall inevitably short.

(Anyone who says differently is selling something. ;D )

In any case, having noticed this pattern, I think it all the more appropriate that the eighth of the 100 Themes is:

AWAY

Yes. Highly apropos, both to art and life.

……  (Runs away and cries.)

Ahem!

While I was mulling different approaches to this theme, there were two interpretations fighting for dominance: away as in separation, but also a way as in a way forward. My first attempts made too much use of this wordplay, but one thing I can say for those early efforts — they helped me get it out of my system. And they provided a few idea-seeds that later made it into the real poem.

Anyway, I was lying in bed one night when a strange line (I tread on your face in the snow) came suddenly to mind, and at last I had a cornerstone to build around. From there it was all exploration, excavation — and lots of revision. Psalm 137 factored in quite out of the blue.

In the end, I didn’t say all I wanted to say, but for now … it’s enough.


The Hill-Top Exile, Dreaming Still

In sight of far-off cupolas flaming in sunrise
I trod on your face in the snow.
The sacred song cleaved to my throat as I held
your nose, crushed sideways
your mouth, stuffed with black earth
and your eyes, still and smooth as knobs of ice.

Now I wander, weeping, and hang
my golden bones from birch
and poplar. The tears collect on the heels
and run, until the day of return,
until rivulets of salt and blood
crack the ice on the river.

Oh forgotten-name, whose music I mourn
forever among these valleys—

you were only breaking through, when I
(gold-blinded) forgot my heel, when I
(sun-inflamed) dashed your face
against time that never was
and never would.


Do share your own poems (composed or found elsewhere), if you have them. But I’ll be glad to hear from you, poem or none!

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