Wednesday, May 23, 2012

untitled...


Sometimes in the past or
 may be a few decades ago
I had hidden myself in a painting. 



but the noise of colours annoy me now.
The four seasons from the painter’s
 deft stroke whirl and roll in a frenzy
and I can’t stop my tears.
And the familiar doorway and this white wall;
they appear fearfully dreary.
 

I want to step out.
I need to find myself.
But I have forgotten
in which one did I hide myself!

 
 



And where beginning to repeat each other:

He was her

And she was him,

She was her

And he was her as well,

She was, she wasn’t,

And he was them,

Or something like that.



Especially in the morning,

Until they’d sorted out

Who was who,

From where to where,

Why this was and not that,

A lot of time elapsed,

Time poured awaay like water.



Occasionally they wanted to kiss each other

But realised, at some point,

That they were both her —

Easier just to repeat.



Then they’d start yawning with fear,

A yawn like soft wool,

Which could even be crocheted

This way:

One was yawning very carefully

The other was holding the ball.

I want to build myself a house

As far away as possible

From all the things

I know.



As far away as possible from the mountains

Out of which squirrels leap in the morning

Like apostles in a clock

Naive beyond belief.



And I don’t want it on the shore

Of that white tiredness

Where I could see through every window

An enamelled scale.



And I know all the tricks

Of the plain.

What else can you expect from her

If at night she frees the grass and wheat

To grow through your ribs and temples?



In any place at all

I’d get so fearfully bored

I couldn’t even

Hang

On my wall

Pictures

The doorway would look too familiar

I’d be feeling I had to move on.



If only I could build myself a house

As far away as possible from

Myself.

I want to build myself a house

As far away as possible

From all the things

I know.



As far away as possible from the mountains

Out of which squirrels leap in the morning

Like apostles in a clock

Naive beyond belief.



And I don’t want it on the shore

Of that white tiredness

Where I could see through every window

An enamelled scale.



And I know all the tricks

Of the plain.

What else can you expect from her

If at night she frees the grass and wheat

To grow through your ribs and temples?



In any place at all

I’d get so fearfully bored

I couldn’t even

Hang

On my wall

Pictures

The doorway would look too familiar

I’d be feeling I had to move on.



If only I could build myself a house

As far away as possible from

Myself.

I want to build myself a house

As far away as possible

From all the things

I know.



As far away as possible from the mountains

Out of which squirrels leap in the morning

Like apostles in a clock

Naive beyond belief.



And I don’t want it on the shore

Of that white tiredness

Where I could see through every window

An enamelled scale.



And I know all the tricks

Of the plain.

What else can you expect from her

If at night she frees the grass and wheat

To grow through your ribs and temples?



In any place at all

I’d get so fearfully bored

I couldn’t even

Hang

On my wall

Pictures

The doorway would look too familiar

I’d be feeling I had to move on.



If only I could build myself a house

As far away as possible from

Myself.


16 comments:

Leo said...

Perhaps you just need to jump out rather than search where you had hidden :)

Claudia said...

nice...rather surreal...sounds like it's time for a change when the colors start to annoy and the once felt safety seems to be no longer there...sure you gonna find yourself again..

Brian Miller said...

the thought to hide yourself in a painting is rather fantastical...but among the chaos of all the color it can surely get uncomfortable...finding yourself again after hiding is not always easy either..

Ygraine said...

What an amazing poem!
I love the idea of being outside and looking in at the place where you are hiding. I could almost tie my mind in knots just trying to work out where you are.
A brilliant brain-teaser, written with such emotion.
Love it:)

The Unknowngnome said...

Can I help? I have some paint remover. :)

R.Ramakrishnan said...

Very beautifully expressed poem.

ashok said...

beautiful...

Dark Knight said...

If you're really lost, you should invest in a good GPS device! :-P

Rose said...

This poem makes me feel sad as it tells of something that has transpired over the period of a very long time. the sense of being invisible is most tangible and the feeling you instill with the loss of sense of direction is unsettling even though or perhaps because it is clear that the surroundings are so familiar. Well done! I love the phrase 'the noises of the colours annoy me' brilliant painting:D I would guess you would be behind the brightest colour Moon:)

Doña Eñe said...

This poem expresses the searching of yourself very well, but if you keep trying to escape from your own identity, you will never find who you really are.
Where are you in the painting (= this world)...? Break that white wall and look into "your colour", your favourite season.
Good luck, Moon.
A hug.
:)

Jack said...

C D,

One in search of true self told so well.

Take care

icyHighs said...

of course the real tragedy of colours is not how loud they are, but the stains they leave...

Brian Miller said...

always good to see you....you are doing well?

Victoria said...

This is so gorgeous. I love the colors, the concepts, the emotions. Wow!

Jeevan said...

Beautiful poem! Its glad to be hidden among colors as a lovely painting :)

Rose said...

Hey Girl what you doing down there? Haven't seen you for ages Moon, what up? Miss you, hope to see you soon :D