Albrecht Durer, “Melancholia” (1514)
space
Sometimes I turn on the light
and the room is empty
even though I know
vast shelves surround me
filled with everything
I mean eventually to say.
Usually I just wander on
repeating the old motions
in faith that something
next will come
like a candle floating
on a votive paper boat:
But at times like this
I’m not sure there is
a next room to this dream;
That I haven’t exited
from the building
and sit in some back alley
next to the dumpster
where all my work
is trashed.
Times like this my
reading lamp is a
mercury streetlight
scouring my emptiness
with artless noir
my thought a vulture
on the roof crooning
in black dolor:
Nothing left to say, Jack,
time to leave this cave;
Time to let some other fool
sing the dust of selkies
from so waterless a wave …
space
February 2012
Say it ain’t so. But I know what you mean, I think.
Truth is, this poem is beautiful. The surround of empty shelves, the votive candle on a paper boat (!) So, if you need to keep writing about wondering if you have anything left to say, I’ll keep reading. After all, what we do is write what’s inside, whether it seems like nothing, or something.
It’s always something . . .
Hope so. Thanks for reading – B
By writing in(and out of) the darkness, we make light. Perverse, but true. And the light of a gift is all too obviously illuminating this piece…I can see it from here on the other side of the Styx.
I see how, reading your poem today. Thanks. Even darkness has its own light. – B
Hey, I take that “some other fool” line personally! Maybe that will help serve as an inducement for me to get back to blog writing…. but seriously, Brendan, all the best to you. Though I don’t often comment I do read and appreciate you.
How did Mr. T put it — “I pity da fool ….” who takes up this pattycake with the fleeting muse. Well, consider yourself tapped for the job. Thanks for reading, Lorenzo – Brendan
enjoyable post/fine job/ once again
all your words come back to thee in shades of mediocrity? it happens to the best of us. don’t believe all of the crap your head tells you, friend.
I too enjoyed pacing the room with you. That frustration of longing-to-write paired with the left-footed no-idea-what-to write or the wallflower don’t-know-where-to-start, that is an awkward and painful dance to endure. But you described it beautifully. Plus I adore the title. Did you start with that or find it in the process? As so many so annoyingly say, “Just keep writing.” That fickle muse will show up right behind you and whisper in your ear again, usually when you’re in the tub away from the computer.
Ah, but every word of this is so beautifully wrought!
i know this poem. it’s a song i sing time to time, like the laundry going out or the laundry coming in.
i don’t know – do we run dry? that’s a scary thought, isn’t it? and if not this, then what? surely a fire. if not this fire, then which fire?
xo
erin
Excellent poem. I love the top image, too!