Thursday, October 22, 2009

I will Dance into the Darkness

I posted a poem titled 'Into the Darkness' yesterday, October 21, 2009. However, just as I was reading it something clicked and I was moved to rewrite it. This is the revised version.


After I have searched beyond your haunting eyes
behind that pile of smiles
through the several turns and bends
deeper into your soul
I will dance into the darkness

After you have pushed through my virginal thoughts
coiled within a box of cries
brutishly breaking the cranial lid
far into my cognitive bed
I will dance into darkness

Your embrace is no more you
flushed with conceit and fiery countenance
it would not let me have my space
but after I have pulled my self from your shadows
and my ears from your lips
after I have unwound my hoary heart from your clad
I would dance silently into the darkness

It has been said:
only death must do us part
but you parted your legs for that bull
and suspended your ass so he can swing
and scream and swing like a mad swine

So I would dance silently into the darkness
for should you consistently
entwine your vines around another
when on each market day
she shrewdly discount your manhood
selling it to the lowest bidder?

Or should you shamelessly shoulder such agony
in primordial love
when men you sire or could
seed their corn in your farm?

I will dance discordantly into the darkness

Revised on October 22, 2009

7 comments:

  1. thanks Novisi...I am learning a lot from the Talk Party...

    ReplyDelete
  2. '[...] Who was it that let your hair loose - overflow of smell of tobacco?
    Who was it that took off your shirt, your stockings?
    Who was it that buried your maddened head
    In his gnarled, harry, arms
    And shuddered you, to the meadow, with heat? [...]' (Arghezi, 'Tinca')
    [the poem is much longer, yet I have no time to provide you with an adequate translation now (and I am not aware whether an English translation is available on the internet...I know of a German translation...)]
    It is a poem about an unshared love of the masses, if you will, after the IstWW.
    I may provide a better (and complete translation) if the poem interest you, just to see a different perspective.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Hi Imola, I would be glad to have it and read it. Looking forward to seeing it.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Here is the poem that I was referring to. Hope you enjoy it.

    TINCA

    Her basket of sun,
    Leaning on her hip, tied to her waist,
    Carried bundles of golden eyes, with milky eyelashes,
    And night gillyflowers.
    On her blackberry breast
    The eyes of handsome gentlemen would rest
    Pleasantly seated around the table,
    -‘Who else wants snow-on-the-mountains?’

    Hey, Tinca, hey! the silk slippers,
    the beans, the earrings – they were no gift of Năstase,
    neither a ring on each finger
    did he place, with his hand.

    Who kneaded your ebony flesh
    And drank your lying sigh?
    Who was it that had known
    Your imperial being?

    Who was it that let your hair loose
    - overflow of smell of tobacco?
    Who was it that took off your shirt, your stockings?
    Who was it that buried your maddened head
    In his gnarled, harry, arms
    And shuddered you, to the meadow, with heat?

    You would not tell anyone
    Where you would sleep each night,
    Sweet whore with May wood lilies!
    You see, Năstase, the convict,
    Only pricked you once,
    And then, all the way through,
    With the entire blade of his knife.

    [Tinca, from Flowers of Mould, T. Arghezi – translation and adaptation, Eleanor Heaney (Imola)]

    ReplyDelete
  5. thanks Imola. this is beautifully written and I believe without your translation I would never have come across this. Thanks very much,it is much appreciated. I love it.

    ReplyDelete
  6. just reading again... and i'm wondering, what shall a man do if not 'dance into the darkness'. the question is not fully answered, but that's what makes beautiful poetry and so it better not be answered.

    ReplyDelete

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