When we met last,
surrounded by your world,
I smelled you, your rich smell.
I was reminded of a perfume that
she would wear, that rich smell
on your neck was like hers too.
When we met last
I saw her face in the shadows
saying nothing, nothing. I remember
only the images of those days, the orchard
trees where we loved, a setting sun,
the drive back to her house.
When we met last
her smell was pain again.
I had thought I had forgotten her
but I remember everything, each line
on her fair palm, her hair a sieve
for the sun, her gestures, that flight, that run.
When we met last
I nearly died, such was the rush
and roar of her smell. And now there is nothing
of her, only your smell.
Kubla, were the orchards even real?
ReplyDeleteoh kubla, it is almost unbearable for me to read your poems, this ever open wound. and then I ask myself - what sense could possible make to tell you that I loved them, which expressions have struck me, to analyse their music... when you are there, wrapped in your sadness, in your dark words, and even these words cannot heal. but for what's worth it, I can't help saying that I love this line above all, 'her hair a sieve
ReplyDeletefor the sun, her gestures, that flight, that run', it is brilliant.
(I hope you won't be angry with me, but I have asked you on my blog to give us a phrase, a sentence, that is important to you, it is a kind of tag play, but if you don't want to do it, it is perfectly ok. I just wanted to show you my gratitude for your blog and I would also very much want to know what words you would choose).
K
ReplyDeleteYour poem reminded me of this:
http://www.piranesia.net/baudelaire/spleen/17hemisphere.html
D
Folded, hi
ReplyDeleteto answer your question, i can only end up in giving an inane reply, so i desist.but, can you distinguish between reality and illusion?
Dcoy: i was not aware of this Baudelaire poem. after reading it, i find it is an ode to excess, a celebration of some kind. but thanks for pointing it.
Roxana:your praise is excessive but i don't mind it. however, the poem reflects a state of mind, thus reality ( but what is reality). the words appear sometimes, some musical and some very very common. i will respond to your tag soon.
Come to think of it, there actually is something cinematographic about the way you write. Even though it is about a smell, the disposition/flashback-montage of images, your preference for metonymy over metaphor, it all contributes to that effect.
ReplyDeleteTechnical stuff aside, good way to depict something as difficult and as terrible as being haunted by a smell.