Turn, Turn, Turn

[~Sophia~]

Turn, Turn, Turn*

Finally, an end to the longest year of my life
pause and pause and

pause
the ventilator starts
a liquid breath churning
rippling

through a famished vein - one
steeped and undulant morning
flight, the spirit unearthed

its artery unwinding in a
city I have long longed for

the halves of my lips, fingers, heart
bridged across the right and left bank.
____________________________________

* Byrds lyrics title

[Pryderi Agni]

Wow...hallucinatory, postmodern imagery. I like it, but of course, we can't understand it. Did you get inspired from the Byrds song?

[~Sophia~]

Hello Pryderi.... thanks and no. The poem came first, then the title. I'm moving to Paris for a few months... a city that has held my heart for most of my life. A want turning!

[firefangled]

A beautiful embrace,
your morning song
for a place
you've loved so long.

[Delta40]

its artery unwinding in a
city I have long longed for

This is beautiful and such an imagination that excites as I have no idea where you have cast me!

[Virgil]

Oh my!! This is stunning Sophia, one of your best. It sent chills down me, especially the ventilator part. My father was on a ventilator for a bit toward the end of his life. I could feel this. [Though as a side note, I'm not sure how the ventilator goes through a vein. Ventilator's go into the bronchial tubes and so the lungs, but I think one can allow for what i call poetic leap. Ultimately the oxygen being fed does lead to the veins, and though the sentence as prose would be in error, as poetry the leap is accepted.]

[Pendragon]

its artery unwinding in a
city I have long longed for

the halves of my lips, fingers, heart
bridged across the right and left bank.

____________________________________

Yeah, remember that song! Nice wording here, like it a lot!

[paperleaves]

Sophia, I love your poetry. Something about the atavistic hunger for complex, sometimes seemingly spiritual images that sprouts from the imagery astounds me. Thanks for sharing
I enjoyed it.


love
paper

[~Sophia~]

Thanks firefangled! I have been in love with that city for as long as I can remember.

__________________________________

Hi Delta! Into the river Seine (that winds through the centre of the city splitting into a right and a left bank)! Thanks for reading and your generous comment!

__________________________________

Virgil, glad you like it and are allowing a little creative license! Thanks!

__________________________________

Pendragon, a season for everything, and this is my time to go.

__________________________________

paperleaves : I love your poetry too! Thanks and hugs!

[cogs]

i would have liked to see Seine mentioned, and your comment,"...a season for everything, and this is my time to go." interesting metaphor for the sluggish feeling compared to someone wasting away. i particularly liked the pauses in the ventilator.

[~Sophia~]

Hi Cogs. I didn't want to mention the city so identifying the Seine felt blatant. I hoped the "right and left bank" were enough of a clue.

I'm also not writing about a sluggish feeling or wasting away but rather, the postponements and compromises. I wanted to make this move 35 years ago and every following year I thought, I'll go next year. But there were kids and bills and mortgages and there was reality. Now... finally it's time for me.

[DanBierce]

And the Byrds took the song from Ecclesiastes. Excellent as always, Sophia. Have a great trip!

[~Sophia~]

Thanks Dan and, I didn't know that about the song! Unfortunately I don't leave for another 3 weeks but that's much better than waiting another year!

[a_little_wisp]

Oh my dear friend -- following your feet again, eh? In this poem, it's almost as if I feel my own heart creaking to life, wanting to go and go and go... With all of your poetry, you make me want to live more.

And I swear it's not too late.

[DanBierce]

Here's a Bukowski poem I read recently I thought I would share:

~Fair Stand the Fields of France~

in the awesome strumming of no
guitars
I can never get too high

in places where giraffes run like
hate
I can never get too lonely

in bars where celluloid bartenders
serve poisoned laughter
I can never get too drunk

at the bottom of mountains
where suicides flow into the streams
I smile better than the Mona Lisa

high lonely drunken grin of grief
I love you.