"Because you can be sure, my dear Crito, that misuse of words is not only troublesome in itself, but actually has a bad effect on the soul." Phaedo

Confessions of a Storyteller

Confessions of a Storyteller 

DSCN3023 bnc hue

The cacophony of noise,

Then and now,

Is pressed into one

Lone image.

Sound, but an un-why speaks;

Veiled auguries make

Fresh the scarred near-miss.

On the ledge of the eternal pause,

vision may re-engineer safeguards but

musky entrails and footsteps on wrought pavement,

apprehends; gripping, first clause.

With powerful magistrate,

The litter of remorse, becomes

the means to back off another bad choice,

And still live to tell about it.

 

A life complicated with

Circling hoof prints,

And leaves that don’t die,

But wither, melt; perform a

yellowish ritual of doubt.

Given a part,

Not yet cast in the role,

the noise sets leeway perennial shifts

Bringing the eyes are upon you.

The un-why relates a topic of distortions,

Hefted with all that cannot be undone, but

Weave textiles of lace to capture wind.

An ardent embrace, bellows the wealth of relief

That doesn’t die, but wither, melt, and

Perform a golden ritual of doubt,

To where I had been so wrong.

 

3 responses

  1. veritasxlogos

    I like the play that occurs with synesthesia here. It echoes the way storytellers make things palpable. Sound becoming an image is perhaps the most primitive definition of storytelling but in some ways the most real. The felt pressure of this action is presented in the “pressing” in the first stanza.

    This is later compared to binding of a weaving lace – an embrace. To a needed, if not natural, pressing that occurs – though here the dark cloud of decomposition looms heavily. I’m not sure of its implication via the shared metaphor of leaves. Perhaps the recycling of imagery the constant using and stealing of the story teller to achieve a new story built on the rich nutrients of decaying literature. But that is not the feel I get – the shift from yellow to golden for instance seems hopeful.

    Just some thoughts.

    Like

    November 19, 2014 at 3:39 pm

    • Thank you Vertas, your impressions are greatly valued.
      There is much to your commentary that has interesting questions of the direction I have pursued, and while I am certain of the source from which I drew the tenor of this work [I will leave it to my readers to say if is inspired] I always hope there would be an element to this work that leaves a reader with a hint of something elusive but real. Like the reader would say to themselves, “I know what that is, but I can’t label it.” That perhaps there could be a lingering feeling of something we can’t shake off and only seems real in the abstract. Like what scientist Michael Polanyi called the Tacit Dimension, where all knowledge leads to the realization that “we can know more than we can tell.” Whether my aim is precise to the target, again, I leave to my reader to let me know.

      This is something I admire in your own work. That while reading Obedience, Outrage and Spacetime, there is always a hook that says “yes” to me and though given within verse, it is closest we can come to understanding this elusive yet beautiful element.

      Thank you for the comment and I look forward to future exchanges.

      Like

      November 22, 2014 at 7:16 pm

  2. Your writing is beautiful, compelling and way over my head…and I love that!!!
    a.g.

    Like

    November 25, 2014 at 8:18 pm

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