Wednesday, February 15, 2017

An iris goes incognito

in its next dream.  It dreams itself an abstract so it no longer has to hear everyone who walks by say, "Look at that yellow iris."  In the dream the bearded iris does all the seeing.

This reflects a poem's experience, too.  A poem wants to do the seeing and wants to be seen as as the sum of its abstraction.  Where exactly is a poem's iris?

Now shall, we move on to contemplate beets?

1 comment:

  1. Jazz for the Occasion (3)

    The materials are always in the vicinity. The energy stranded on a pier reaches out to me. I walk to the water at lunch. I look at the grey and weathered sky and see your small industrious form spread out at once to greet me. There are large and ominous trees which shield and sway in the wind, but we walk through them without fear. The blossoms of a quince dot my vision; suddenly there is sun and a distant bell. We are strolling the garden by kerosene lamp; it's a full moon but still the planes drop down, appearing from beyond the insistent banished darkness into the core of light.

    I want a waffle while I look at birds. Syrup!