Sunday, August 16, 2009

to your knife



...
.......a-

...............live

....................i am

.........................the

..............................whet-

...................................stone

.........................



Antonio Vivaldi - Gloria in Excelsis Deo

13 comments:

vv said...

...is alternately stone in you and star


Evening
The sky puts on the darkening blue coat
held for it by a row of ancient trees;
you watch: and the lands grow distant in your sight,
one journeying to heaven, one that falls;

and leave you, not at home in either one,
not quite so still and dark as the darkened houses,
not calling to eternity with the passion
of what becomes a star each night, and rises;

and leave you (inexpressibly to unravel)
your life, with its immensity and fear,
so that, now bounded, now immeasurable
it is alternately stone in you and star.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

Manuela said...

inexpressibly to unravel...

thank you for this, vv. i read it and feel... full, i guess.

Prospero said...

inexpressibly to un(maurice)ravel

Prospero said...

what images do you see?

Prospero said...

what colors do you feel?

m said...

i see a dark stone that looks like a solid spinning wheel. it sparkles as if made of grey diamonds, only the diamonds are words - shimmering, a-live words. the wheel vibrates with an internal hum, but it does not move.

a long, thin knife with a dull blade materializes above it, and the wheel starts spinning, faster and faster until the air around begins to move in outwards waves.

the knife moves slowly downwards and begins a seesaw motions on top of the wheel - where they touch (a tangent), words explode into yellow suns that the air waves catch and push further and further away, their songs of triumph and despair growing fainter, their lights becoming minuscule, burning red eyes that look back one more time before disappearing into the distant, black silence.

the wheel keeps spinning, the knife becomes sharper and shinier, they both give of themselves to build and send out a symphony of praise.

Roxana said...

i will be haunted by this one line.
i have never felt this image before, inside me: the wheel has always been for me associated with clay, with gently giving shape to primeval matter - a gesture immersed into the feminine, as Bachelard would say :-)

m said...

and what do you see, what do you feel?

m said...

roxana, i have a long standing fascination with the spinning wheel and the clay - it looks so elegant and effortless when you see it done right - a different kind of poem.

but the clay, it needs to be moistened and softened and gets pounded and pushed and pulled, and then spins at that terrible speed... and then it goes into the fire. so i guess i never thought or felt it to be a gentle process.

re bachelard and the feminine, that reference sent me straight to the internet to read more - i have to send you one article, it ends like this:

"Therefore, whilst numerous critics remain puzzled as to why 'such a creative mind and prolific writer, so well known in France, has remained in relative obscurity in the English-speaking world', I wish to suggest that Gaston Bachelard is best left vegetating in his unrestricted 'reve de penetration'."

("Gaston Bachelard's L'Eau et les Reves: Conquering the Feminine Element", Wendy O'Shea-Meddour, French Cultural Studies 2003; 14; 81)

you see why i must send it to you :)

Prospero said...

i wanted to come back to your description, since it was so detailed. The most striking thing, to me, was the inclusion of words. This happens early on.

Prospero said...

you end with a symphony of praise
i imagine a rebuke
i am the stone
i resent the knife
i feel powerless

m said...

how about,

i am the whetsone
what i am without the knife
stationary, aim-less
what is the knife without me
dull, use-less

we connect, sharpen each other, function
with words

a pain-ful process, not joy-less
like any creation is

Prospero said...

yes