and won’t forget it. At the same time, it’s disjointed, do you agree? Unless I suppose the dregs are each day’s dregs of sunlight at the end of the day, rather than the sun’s light itself.
But I find myself both caught by the image and frustrated by it, which means that it has added something.
Cheers Linnesby-Maria :-) Yeah, that's a striking stanza. It's not really disjointed to me, but certainly plays with fragmentation and imagery in unexpected ways. For me, it is a metaphor rather than literal y'know - to drink something to its dregs is to drink as much of it as is possible - intensified through the impossibility of it happening - but I also like your reading of it being the dregs of sunlight left at the end of the day, as it disappears over the horizon. Such a striking and vital image - endlessly unfolding. Love it!
Thanks for replying! Ah — deliberately fragmented rather than disjointed; yes, I could go with that. An image that remains with one.
It's funny, because drinking in sunlight is a common image, but it feels fresh here, perhaps because the drinkers are frozen, and because there is the unexpected and disconcerting — and, I like your word, striking — implication that the sunlight might be drunk until there is nothing left. Just before reading this I was reading a bit by Carlo Rovelli where he explains black holes (at the start of a short new book called ”White Holes”), and it occurs to me today that a black hole might be considered the dregs of a sun: the solids left after the flow has stopped…
Yeah - Paris Roofs is something special for sure :-) Awww cheers Paul -really appreciate it. This was the first of my reply poems that didn't need any editing for the reissue - so it's one that is particularly special to me.
Hehe - yeah, it's annoyingly a bit cold here in Wellington as well - mainly due to the high winds! Not as cold as that of course - it never gets that cold here, I can't even imagine (the very coldest we get is about -8dc). Sending as much blue sky cheer as I can and hope you manage to keep warm.
I was moved by the biographical sketch in this one. . .the way she was a true friend--inhabiting that way of being--but also able to observe it--finding words & poems for what she was living out in her life! Living poems with a strong pulse. . .Thank you 💛
Yeah, agreed, and Goldman's recollections of her were so perfect, so loving. Love the stanza you picked out - what a beauty! And love this: "living poems with a strong pulse" - such a striking description. 🖤
Wonderful, poems and surrounding text both!
I especially like this:
“Sun,
come down upon the ground
and spread your feet upon its chill.
Let them drink you to dregs
the cold mountain streams,
and the frozen reeds in the river”
and won’t forget it. At the same time, it’s disjointed, do you agree? Unless I suppose the dregs are each day’s dregs of sunlight at the end of the day, rather than the sun’s light itself.
But I find myself both caught by the image and frustrated by it, which means that it has added something.
Cheers Linnesby-Maria :-) Yeah, that's a striking stanza. It's not really disjointed to me, but certainly plays with fragmentation and imagery in unexpected ways. For me, it is a metaphor rather than literal y'know - to drink something to its dregs is to drink as much of it as is possible - intensified through the impossibility of it happening - but I also like your reading of it being the dregs of sunlight left at the end of the day, as it disappears over the horizon. Such a striking and vital image - endlessly unfolding. Love it!
Thanks for replying! Ah — deliberately fragmented rather than disjointed; yes, I could go with that. An image that remains with one.
It's funny, because drinking in sunlight is a common image, but it feels fresh here, perhaps because the drinkers are frozen, and because there is the unexpected and disconcerting — and, I like your word, striking — implication that the sunlight might be drunk until there is nothing left. Just before reading this I was reading a bit by Carlo Rovelli where he explains black holes (at the start of a short new book called ”White Holes”), and it occurs to me today that a black hole might be considered the dregs of a sun: the solids left after the flow has stopped…
Love that - yes, I agree, a black hole could be described as the "dregs of the sun" - a great way of putting it. :-)
'wind is the wind is the wind
and the night is alive
as any of us
joyously singing
in a language so old
only the earth
understands'
LOVE this Dick!!
More.
Awww cheers Síodhna - that means a lot. It was the first of my reply poems that didn't need editing for the republish, so it's a special one to me 🖤
The Coleman poems are lovely, Dick, with “Paris Roofs” my favorite. As always, your envoi to Coleman is superb!
Yeah - Paris Roofs is something special for sure :-) Awww cheers Paul -really appreciate it. This was the first of my reply poems that didn't need any editing for the reissue - so it's one that is particularly special to me.
Thanks, Dick. it’s -17C here so receiving a note from the southern summer cheers me up a bit—Brrrr!
Hehe - yeah, it's annoyingly a bit cold here in Wellington as well - mainly due to the high winds! Not as cold as that of course - it never gets that cold here, I can't even imagine (the very coldest we get is about -8dc). Sending as much blue sky cheer as I can and hope you manage to keep warm.
Thanks, Dick - It did warm up a bit, enough to get another dusting of snow. I'm going back to hibernate!
“Poem” is so rich, so much going on there. Thank you for bringing all these poets back into the light.
Yeah - that poem blows me away. Wonderful stuff. Ah, always a pleasure LeeAnn. Thanks so much for reading!
"quiet hands
asylum for my bewilderment
when phantoms of other worlds seek after me
peace to my spent spirit"
I was moved by the biographical sketch in this one. . .the way she was a true friend--inhabiting that way of being--but also able to observe it--finding words & poems for what she was living out in her life! Living poems with a strong pulse. . .Thank you 💛
Yeah, agreed, and Goldman's recollections of her were so perfect, so loving. Love the stanza you picked out - what a beauty! And love this: "living poems with a strong pulse" - such a striking description. 🖤