Mystery Achievements in Conversation

[This poem traveled a different path than many of my poems. Generally, my poetry is written in a single session. Oh, I revise them and clean them up later but major re-writing is rare for me. Usually revision is mostly adjusting lines, punctuation, changing phrasing, eliminating words, etc. This poem started out about a third the finished size below and was originally titled "When We Talked" in January, 1980. Somehow in the course of revision it grew substantially.

The use of short phrases to introduce several lines of related imagery was typical of my poem structure of the time. Although I understood more traditional poetry forms and structures at the time, I had little patience for using them. I preferred to essentially create forms for the individual poems that represented (to my mind) something specific about the content or subject. There were some self-constructed forms I reused often. Sometimes the form was not in the physical construction or placement of lines but internal rhythms and sounds within the wording and phrasing itself. Sometimes this would take the form of internal rhymes but more often it was patterned sounds within the text. Note also my use of the British spelling of "colour." I have these affectations...

As I've mentioned often here, the printed version of the poem in this blog does not contain the original indents or form. The scan above, while difficult to read, at least gives an idea of the original format. I'm resigned to the fact I won't be able to reproduce some of my more visually complex poems here. I haven't even made the rudimentary effort on the poem below because it's just such a compromise, I'd rather leave it plain and simple. ]

Mystery Achievements in Conversation

let them go:
the private lies twitching in the dark
of deepshaded thoughts in candlelit
cafes along the serpentine river.
the retribution:
feeding on society's garbage to find
that even burning bushes burn to cinders.
the dawning realization:
of hidden traumas coming to a
blackwhite surface in soft style.
give it to me:
the plane flying close to the tops
of waves cresting in the middle of
the pacific ocean, and we watch.
all leaders will be tall and brave:
better start thinking of alternatives
since the yellow pictures we hold of each
other are fading fast in the light.
dream all night long:
the stars shining down on
the flaming towers along the
turnpike, the nightland showing
its scarred and longing face.
can you hear me:
the car flaming as it hits the gas pumps
billowing flames blowing across the black
night sky, blotting out the stars.
laughing goals:
dreams just like everyone else here,
but they are so out of reach when
the daylight glare evaporates them.
they were such small lies:
the telling of false accomplishments
and singular encounters with bare
luminaries and incandescent suns.
could we speak:
only in tongues incomprehensible
to one another, using reference points
invisible to our individual cultures.
we knew nothing of each other:
only the victorian facades presented
in colours of our halcyon days muted by
the present and shuttered very tightly.
smooth wonderment:
mysterious communication of senseless
bodies beginning to feel and search out
the vaguely perceived achievement.
could we walk across the water:
the oil hot and consuming between us
claiming the right of holding us apart
but once, once we talked about it.
i hear the call:
quavering and faint across
the waters deep and inhabited by
creatures who understand the urge,
and they are silent when we swim.

January, 1980
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