Upon Recalling Youth and Poetry
In all probability
it was one
of two Helens,
that first
pointed me in
the very vague
direction
of the already
famous
Canadian Jew ..
And who,
as it happened,
proved
both to be a
junkie and a poet ..
At that time,
I distinctly recall
how we
each huddled
around
an old gas stove ..
On what
must surely have
been a long
weekend, winter
evening ..
Listening to him,
first clear
his throat
of the nicotine
and the
thesaurus ..
Indeed, those
which both
seemed to be
lodged there
indefinitely ..
And in turn,
made his voice,
sound not
only coarse,
but also
correspondingly
sweet ..
Like Grandma’s
cold honey
oat cakes ..
What I try not
to remember
now though ..
Is just how many
times we
each failed to
notice time ..
And as always,
missed that
last bus home ..
But then,
the aftertaste
and the pull of it
began to
kick in and was
always too
good to resist
or leave behind us ..
And so
dear friend,
in truth ..
We would sleep
where
we could
and with whom ..
Because
back then
we were young ..
And would
dream only
of Janes and of
Mariannes,
Greek islands,
black olives,
goats cheeses
and honey ..
Oh’ and then
of course
Mastering yet
another,
handful of chords ..
Offline)
Comments7
Good write N.
Yes, KP and I went to a Greek island. I only bought her a one-way ticket! heehee.
I bet when she found out, the first thing she said was Halleluiah đđđđđđđ§
It so flows
Omnidirectional keeping readers transfixed w contents and weaponry words, nicotine shackled to Thesaurus , Iâm happy w your choice to unsheath..,
Bless you Bobby O
These days, youth seems something I dreamt of once. And poetry, the crutch that that helps me hobble along. Now the past becomes stronger, by virtue of it being sweeter in reflection. A very estimable write dear friend.
I know the feeling dear friend .. it creeps up on us doesn't it and we just can't creak away fast enough .. thanks a zillion .. N đ
Yes, poetry that was the voice of a generation and for the most part embraced as such.
it has a voice of its very own, doesn't it .. thanks CB .. N đ
Yassuh!
One of your very, VERY, very
best!!!!!! dear Poet supreme
No superlatives can do my
sensations/feelings, justice
All I can do is let you verify, how
favourably your poem
compares/competes
with one of my all-Time favourite poems
-ever!
What a treasure in a read
you've captured
that Autumnal of youth, reverie's
sweet accented melancholy
pitch-perfectly.
such a triumph of your subtle, pen
I congratulate you on reaching such a poetic peak, Hyung!
I read and try, to learn
(one of my favourite poems
is a brilliant Ezra Pound translation
of LI Bai's poetic Genius
a poem originally titled 'Exile's letter'
read below, although i'm sure you know it already:
''So-Kin of Rakuho, ancient friend, I now remember
That you built me a special tavern,
By the south side of the bridge at Ten-Shin.
With yellow gold and white jewels
we paid for the songs and laughter,
And we were drunk for month after month,
forgetting the kings and princes.
Intelligent men came drifting in, from the sea
and from the west border,
And with them, and with you especially,
there was nothing at cross-purpose;
And they made nothing of sea-crossing
or of mountain-crossing,
If only they could be of that fellowship.
And we all spoke out our hearts and minds âŚ
and without regret.
And then I was sent off to South Wei,
smothered in laurel groves,
And you to the north of Raku-hoku,
Till we had nothing but thoughts and memories between us.
And when separation had come to its worst
We met, and travelled together into Sen-Go
Through all the thirty-six folds of the turning and twisting waters;
Into a valley of a thousand bright flowers âŚ
that was the first valley,
And on into ten thousand valleys
full of voices and pine-winds.
With silver harness and reins of gold,
prostrating themselves on the ground,
Out came the East-of-Kan foreman and his company;
And there came also the âTrue-manâ of Shi-yo to meet me,
Playing on a jewelled mouth-organ.
In the storied houses of San-Ko they gave us
more Sennin music;
Many instruments, like the sound of young phĹnix broods.
And the foreman of Kan-Chu, drunk,
Danced because his long sleeves
Wouldnât keep still, with that music playing.
And I, wrapped in brocade, went to sleep with my head on his lap,
And my spirit so high that it was all over the heavens.
And before the end of the day we were scattered like stars or rain.
I had to be off to So, far away over the waters,
You back to your river-bridge.
And your father, who was brave as a leopard,
Was governor in Hei Shu and put down the barbarian rabble.
And one May he had you send for me, despite the long distance;
And what with broken wheels and so on, I wonât say it wasnât hard going âŚ
Over roads twisted like sheepâs guts.
And I was still going, late in the year,
in the cutting wind from the north,
And thinking how little you cared for the cost âŚ
and you caring enough to pay it.
Then what a reception!
Red jade cups, food well set, on a blue jewelled table;
And I was drunk, and had no thought of returning;
And you would walk out with me to the western corner of the castle,
To the dynastic temple, with the water about it clear as blue jade,
With boats floating, and the sound of mouth-organs and drums,
With ripples like dragon-scales going grass-green on the water,
Pleasure lasting, with courtezans going and coming without hindrance,
With the willow-flakes falling like snow,
And the vermilioned girls getting drunk about sunset,
And the waters a hundred feet deep reflecting green eyebrowsâ
Eyebrows painted green are a fine sight in young moonlight,
Gracefully paintedâand the girls singing back at each other,
Dancing in transparent brocade,
And the wind lifting the song, and interrupting it,
Tossing it up under the clouds.
And all this comes to an end,
And is not again to be met with.
I went up to the court for examination,
Tried Layuâs luck, offered the Choyu song,
And got no promotion,
And went back to the East Mountains white-headed.
And once again we met, later, at the South Bridge head.
And then the crowd broke upâyou went north to San palace.
And if you ask how I regret that parting?
It is like the flowers falling at springâs end,
confused, whirled in a tangle.
What is the use of talking! And there is no end of talkingâ
There is no end of things in the heart.
I call in the boy,
Have him sit on his knees to write and seal this,
And I send it a thousand miles, thinking.'')
I too am a Pound fan ..
and am incredibly honoured by your review note Mek which by the way, has exceeded by far, all my expectations, even from your incredibly eloquent good self .. How can I adequately thank you .. the simple answer is, I can't .. but hope you can get a feel of just how grateful I am for your ongoing interest in my scribbles and the heart-warming support you provide this particular old scribe .. Many BIG thank you's and again, the cheque is in the post .......... Neville
Blimey .. you sure that was me .. I am gonna thank you quick and cut n paste just in case you delete or change ya mind bro đ
Youth is the sweetest time of life, often filled with romance, friends, food. drink. and music. Time itself, becomes irrelevant and only selfish needs prevail. Yet, as fodder for poetry, reminiscence of that time brings forth pages.
Your poem rings true to those times and those moments. It stirs the memories of your readers. Your chosen words give life to their forgotten memories. Thank you for posting this. It sparked a recall of many such happenings. - Phil A.
What magnificent insights you have brought to this page my friend .. indeed, those well chosen words of yours are heart-warmingly accepted both gratefully and most humbly .. Bless you Phil ..
'What I try not
to remember
now though ..
Is just how many
times we
each failed to
notice time ..'
my tenth read, and these lines still get me
so love this one Hyung
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