© Steve King
All
rights reserved
When I
peer into my eyes
the world
is looking back-wards:
just
reflection,
no
perspective view
to shape
all things
convergent
to a one.
When I
look into my eyes—
mirrors
within mirror—
some
unreachable other
signals
back the flip side of my meanings,
hovering
just beneath the gloss,
caught in
near reality
that
shall never truly come to pass.
Lost in a
mirage of seeing,
faces
that may never look beyond;
I cannot
fathom what the mirror knows —
I cannot
wonder from behind the glass,
can never
hope to find myself by looking,
the way
that I would gladly spy
a
misplaced wallet
or a ring
of keys.
Playing
the charade,
I turn
quickly from the frame
before
the other knows to look away,
and leave
that presence lingering,
captive
in a growing horde
of disappointed
shades—
‘til I shall try again
to find
that certain vision,
still wondering
in those uncertain moments
why nothing
of that kind comes ready made.
A new poem for Imaginary Gardens...
http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/
A new poem for Imaginary Gardens...
http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/
why is that? i like this reflection, a chance to pause and ponder. very nice.
ReplyDeletegreat work, Steve! ...so good to see you here :) xo
ReplyDelete~jackie~
I'm not often given to looking into my eyes - the idea is frightening to me. I'm far from deciphering my mystery and I do appreciate you being friends with your inside. <3
ReplyDeleteCouldn't quite see it in the guise of a Constanza but it is an exceptional poem. Love the flow of thought and observations.The way the mirror image becomes its own being, stirs dis-ease and the thought could make one uncomfortable with this half-reality.
ReplyDeleteHi Jo-hanna,
DeleteI had just intended this as a response to the open link, not a Constanza. Thanks much for the generous comment.
Steve K.
Seems like we're both instructed and fooled by our senses, especially what we see, which perforce inverts and goes upside down beaming from one eye into the opposite lobe of the brain. Tricky stuff ... Egyptians believed the Otherworld was upside down and backwards from this one, a sort of Bizarro World perspective that, like dreams, was hauntingly close to but irretrievably far from this one. Then there is the mind's eye which sees what the naked eye cannot, and sometimes blurs the vision trying to see what it believes. Somehow the poem has to make sense of all that, find a middle way. Nice job, Steve.
ReplyDeleteSuch a haunting quality to this piece--and maybe to the way we see ourselves or look away--thoughty piece for me--and I tend to like them that way
ReplyDeleteWe often look at our features and not into our eyes - this is an interesting take as to why and what might happen if we did.
ReplyDeleteMirrors and masks are always fascinating, I think--and what they reveal or conceal says a great deal about our personal reality(the one we only show ourselves, the one we never show ourselves) I love the way this almost seems to waver, like a mirror image in flickering light, as reflections both physical and mental change the viewing. My favorite lines:
ReplyDelete"... I cannot fathom what the mirror knows —
I cannot wonder from behind the glass,
can never hope to find myself by looking.."
Hey Steve--I love the idea of getting the "flip" side of one's meanings-- though of course, one too often gets those--
ReplyDeleteThe cleverness of looking back- and looking backwards is very striking, and the whole otherness of that being before ourselves--
there are also so many near double meanings and shades of meaning --I especially like the inability to wonder from behind the glass, which is like the inability to wander away from it--and the shades which are like ghosts but also the darker part of one's selves--or if not darker--those shadowy selves that we cannot quite grasp--as always very elegantly and beautifully rendered. k.
This is extremely cool - an arresting thought that the image in the mirror remains behind......."and leave that presence lingering". Very cool write!
ReplyDeleteThis is a wonderful look at the reality of ourselves, and how painful and fascinating that observation can be.
ReplyDeleteLove these lines: "captive in a growing horde
of disappointed shades—"
The whole last stanza really brought it all home perfectly.