Survivors

Survivors

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Out of Amnesia

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© Steve King
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It surprises so:
the very thought
of capturing the thought—
as when unseen winds
purge heavy clouds
to bare the sky;
all sudden,
all surprise.

Like working through a kind of amnesia—
a something from a nothing,
rising like dumb luck,
too quick a moment
to have planned it all.
What once was void
at last a place
to cultivate the fruit
of one’s un-axiomed conjectures.

As if the air has substance,
a dream weight.

The stubborn blank,
now with full character revealed,
unobscured,
even by the heavy lines
and crude designs
my vanity would scribe.

Bit by bit arriving at a state
that must have always been a destiny;
not just evolving emptiness,
not just a thing unstructured
in its order and command,
but real forever,
biding for its time,
submerged within the interstices,
laced among the things we think we know;
waiting for a moment, just so;
vamping in that offstage blackout,
ready for a cue light to show.

Like lifting amnesia:
reaching through the thin air
of an empty height
to stir a stew of myth
from teeming shadows far below;
a nothing rising to a surety,
desires fulfilled
in the act of desiring,
drawing out the faint shade of a hope,
finally, the outline of a thing
that must at least be called
the stepchild of a dream.

Out of that amnesia,
that emptiness alike to death,
where this strange thing must wait,
for the one right moment,
to gather in a kind of puzzling light,
hovering like one’s own shadow,
yet poised there quite alone,
now whispering old secrets
that you are so surprised
to call your own.

16 comments:

  1. There is so much I love about this: "[Unseen winds purge heavy clouds to bare the sky" and working through and lifting amnesia! The whole concept of going from obscurity to clarity, from the dark womb to birth, wonderful!

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  2. Absolutely loved this Steve, the image you've used is arcane- the fall of the fool, depicting the arcana of the tarot deck. Show's you how full of useless knowledge my brain is. Anyhoo, the dream so obscure it may be reality and life itself is the epitome of the wake up slap at birth. Great concepts

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    Replies
    1. I must admit I was more economical in my initial thinking--more along the lines of a metaphor for the writing process. Thanks for the expansive and illuminating commentary.

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  3. "..finally, the outline of a thing
    that must at least be called
    the stepchild of a dream."

    Only one of so many individual shining facets of this bit of word art. Your use of amnesia for the fog of living(or so I read) is masterful, and the effort it takes to work through it what we once feel we knew but can't grasp...fine work here, Steve. A pleasure as always to read.

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    Replies
    1. 'work through it TO'--my fingers lagging behind my brain, as usual.

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  4. I could never say it as eloquently as Hedge...but the comment above resonates so well with me...as fantastic as that fog of amnesia...a brilliant write, Steve...as they always are!

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  5. smiles..it is a journey and oft we dont know where we are going and its easy as well to lose the hope of that one day...that we might reach even a step child of a dream, much less the real thing...and we try not to forget...and carry on...

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  6. this made me smile, for me it was about the process of writing, poetry works so much this way for me...
    love these lines:
    "reaching through the thin air
    of an empty height
    to stir a stew of myth
    from teeming shadows far below;"
    and so much more... great write!

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  7. steve, wow, this is great. i have to stand up and applaud. so smooth and so straight... with all of its curves. your work here isn't climbing, it's leaping... i love that, very very well done.

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  8. Interesting take on the lifting of amnesia, a moment ready for the cue light to show ~ I also like step child of a dream, lovely weaving here Steve ~

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  9. A great write, Steve. Brilliant lines !

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  10. Many wonderful turns of phrase here - and an interesting notion - to come out of amnesia - I especially liked this:

    What once was void
    at last a place
    to cultivate the fruit
    of one’s un-axiomed conjectures.

    (I just love un-axiomed conjuectures.) - And then the whole close is marvelous. k.

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  11. reaching through the thin air
    of an empty height
    to stir a stew of myth... and...the stepchild of a dream...were my fav lines in this...among many brilliant lines...but one have to choose..or not..? smiles

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