Thursday, April 3, 2008

Showers, flowers and a lack of swearing

The rite of Persephone

Pastels burn the ash smeared on glass,
winter’s talisman rests broken.
What great burden springs from the grass –
bright shadow, leave me your token:
plucked imaginings catch the breeze,
reawaken songs in the trees –
let me hear them pine for the seas.

O symphony, echo so deep,
reveal your secrets kept below,
a spell against the death of sleep,
charming measures to move so slow –
the hours stop. Deceived, I cry,
fragments climb to embrace the sky,
compose the most beautiful lie.


FranIAm said...

I really can't say much more than this- what a post, very beautiful.

Thank you and no f-bombs.

BTW, I am going to ask you to go to my blog and link into the Tobias Haller post on Emmaus. Religion is not your thing, and that is cool man, but Tobias' wrote a piece of music that is on that post and I think you might like it.

Maybe not - but click and listen. I would be curious.

La Belette Rouge said...

So happy that Hades let you sneak this poem out. Randal, you have one fierce mind. I am so delighted when you share some of your poetry this with us. And, yet, whenever you do you leave me absolutely gobsmacked and that is a very good thing.

Dr. Zaius said...

I don't think that you should trust Persephone. She spends half her time hanging out with dead people.

b said...

This is so, so beautiful. Thanks in large to having met you and the inspiration of another friend, I have been so absorbed by poetry lately. It is so transcendent in such an indescribable way. I really admire poets like yourself. To take so much feeling, beauty, agony, nature, etc. and put it in such a condensed form is truly awe inspiring.

Karen said...

Absolutely lovely. Thanks for posting that!

Randal Graves said...

fran, I did as I was told and I dug that piece a lot, very pastoral, kind of reminded me of some Vaughn Williams stuff.

LBR, you're far too kind. I always feel so inadequate after having posted stuff by the masters, like Verlaine the other day.

dr. zaius, she hangs out at McCain fundraisers?

b, merci, but I must second my comment to LBR. Poetry seems to be one of those things that one either really digs or doesn't, like White Castle hamburgers. I try to be ambiguous while hinting at something else, but treading that line is difficult. Someone like Robert Lowell was brilliant at that, whether writing formally or not; he wasn't overtly concrete but not so nebulous that it seemed like a mismatched group of images.

Randal Graves said...

karen, thanks!

Anonymous said...

Warm fuzzies galore.

Betty C. said...

A bit of a contrast to your last post -- I must say I prefer this one.

TomCat said...

Very well done, Randal!

pissed off patricia said...

That's beautiful. Am I at the right site? I thought there was going to be a cuss-a-rama here today.

Randal Graves said...

fot, you know I'm all about the warm fuzzies.

betty, so do I, but I don't have a lot of non-horrid poems to put up. Hence, vulgarity.

tomcat, thanks!

POP, every now and then I let my melancholic sappy side out. I'm sure I'll be back to being a jerk tomorrow.

fairlane said...

what is this fucking bullshit?


Anthony Cartouche said...

That's a good poem, Randal.

FranIAm said...

Randal, I am so very, very impressed with you.

Glad you liked the music- it is lovely. I have played it many times.

And nice to see that Tobias' blog didn't spontaneously burst into cyber-flames due to a visit from a follower of Cthulu!

Randal Graves said...

fairlane, demon possession is the only plausible explanation.

ac, thanks, I'm allowed one a year.

fran, I liked the incorporation of the organ too, which wasn't overdone. And hey, if Jesusery would set my electrons and/or flesh on fire, I'd have to cull a good chunk of my CD collection!