today’s Musing written and published from
note about music/video links – I find on Saturday and Sunday mornings I have time, and perhaps my readers do to, to listen to some music. I choose pieces I like that connect, in some way, to the subject matter or to my mood… hope you like them]
Morning walk: 11C/52F, sunny calm, lawnmower noise punctuates silence I’ve enjoyed since 3AM, party types quieted, newspaper deliveries began, morning is welcome . . . Gusta sniffed out location of domestic rabbit on the lamb – scaring both.
I have answered questions – about what I write, and why, what I hope to find and how – always inadequately I think; but I came across a quote by the great dancer Isadora Duncan, if ever there was a tortured spirit: ‘If I could tell you what it meant, there would be no point in dancing it . . ’
As I try to explain . . enjoy your coffee, and some great music: Steely Dan - Nineteen , Boz Scaggs - Lido Shuffle , Phoebe Snow - Poetry Man , Rita Coolidge - We're All Alone , Bread - Guitar Man , Gordon Lightfoot - Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald , Compay Segundo - Chan Chan , Buena vista social club – Clocks , Debussy’s Clair de Lune, Ravel’s Bolero
To hold some moment, in our hand, impossible physics, as it is emotional or spiritual pursuit – like trying to grab wisps of smoke with our hands, catch sound waves with tongue antennae, or feel power of flowing water by looking at it – to imagine as we might imagine soaking up atmosphere as a parched sponge would, sights and sounds that go with . . . feeling breeze on arm hairs, finger tip touch reaching out to meet me . . .
What Ravel reveals stirs mind as much as loin, stirs pot, stirs mix - belly angst and backbone stiffener – inspires wish for powder potion to slip into drinks that brings us to that crescendo, better yet – one to keep us there.
When we start to understand something, or someone, really well – we get less anxious about everything; for me, anyway, that’s how it feels – whether looking forward to next great adventure, back at the last one, or remembering my imagination of the one that never was but it seemed so real in my great imagination . . .
Being right feels good, being clear feels even better – wanting, aching – so much better than not having something to want, or to ache for.
Silence of vocal chords, the silence of being alone in the room with no one to talk to, when conversations or worse than one-way, they are only my way, there is no debate or spirit, no edge, no angst, no laughter, no spirit, no touch, touché, no touch her – the life of a solitary man is worse than lonely, because he can fix that with noise and people, with a dog and with music, with activity . . . the illusion of not being alone is maintained, however faintly, for a while and then it all goes back to where it was, where it is, and where it might get stuck.
I’ve borrowed words that say, better than me, what my heart aches to spill out - I often think of ways to help keep the dream alive. I can only continue to be who I am and to continue to enjoy who you are. Because who you are brings so much pleasure to my mind, my body and heart . . . borrowed words, borrowed time, waiting and dreaming; my knee says ouch, proves that bodies get creaky as we get older . . . yet all my life, as old as I grow, I’ll want to know what a man is, if left alone, what a woman is, if left alone; come to me, be here with me, be here at three, don’t leave till three, and come again at three – I won’t be ready, but I’ll be here . . .
The cure for this – condition of mind state – is not in a pill or cream, no potion or prescription, but the meeting and mating, of melding and welding, one life to another. For now, I’ll while away time on other pursuits to distract my mind, or at least my body, so the energy has a place to go. Take care, of your day and needs. When you can respond you will, I know this.
I'll be here when you're done. Here, close, nearby. When it comes to you, I am patient, I have found that you are worth it…
~~~
RAVEL - archived poetry
Preoccupation
reinvention
restyling
re-composing
in-compose-able
incomprehensible
movement
sounds pound
eardrum attacked
like scratches
on paper, rough quill
yields noise image
scripted, depicted
loud, proud
cadence moves
emotion round
and around
pumps blood
faster, faster
faster still
until body
moves, piques
reclines again
relaxation
fixation
preoccupation.
~~~
Mark Kolke
321,484
212.0
RESPONSES/COMMENTS ALWAYS WELCOME; send to: dailycolumn@markkolke.com
June 25 Comments
June 25 – NO SLIP BANANA – Mark, Congratulations. You have my toast as a master of speak (as well as muse). No doubt your oratorical virtuosity is enhanced by your diurnal scrivening (and vice versa), KK,
June 25 – NO SLIP BANANA - Did you catch any of the news re. the
June 25 – NO SLIP BANANA - Consider this...based on someone else’s work - a book, its title and its author’s name have not surfaced from my murky memory yet.... The concept is not mine. I didn’t invent the words either, I merely arranged them, JW, Cochrane/Calgary, AB
Time is not linear
and it’s not all about where the sun is,
when to leave for work,
when to go home,
when the moon comes up,
when to go to bed,
when, when, when....
It is a place, a dimension where all things ARE.
It’s a place you visit in your dreams,
where you experience a ‘virtual reality’
at some point in your here sleep –
sometimes you remember it,
sometimes you do not.
It’s a place we can learn to visit
to find an alternate reality where,
if we are blind here,
there we still have sight.
It’s a place where all versions of us exist
that have made alternate choices in their lives.
It’s a place where we can ‘borrow’ things temporarily.
It’s a place where wonderful inventions exist now.
It’s a place to visit when we “sleep on it”.
It’s a place we strive to find by meditating.
It’s a place where sanity,
or our reaction to the world around us,
morphs constantly.
Living there is too much for us,
so we visit.
How do I visit at will?
thank you. i love to read this type of information posts. again thank you...
Posted by: kiralık devremülkler | 03/26/2011 at 03:58 PM