top of page

Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem.-Edgar Allan Poe

Poetry is when emotion has found its thought and thought has found words--Robert Frost

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance--Carl Sandburg

I have nothing to say, I am saying it, and that is poetry--John Cage

You will find poetry nowhere unless you bring some of it with you--Joseph Joubert

Poetry is what in a poem makes you laugh, cry, prickle, be silent, makes your toe nails twinkle, makes you want to do this or that or nothing, makes you know that you are alone in the unknown world, that your bliss and suffering is forever shared and forever all your own. ~Dylan Thomas

joybragi84

A Finished Poem (They are never really finished.) from the Draft that You Saw Last Week


Before I present the poem to you, I wanted to tell you about some interesting stuff that I ran across as part of my research to finish the poem.

Anyhow, I needed a two syllable word to replace the three syllable word "re-flec-tion." I was using all my usual sources and had only come up with ideas like "mirror," "echo," and "image." None of these words works in context. Therefore, I suddenly remembered my Greek mythology and the character who personifies reflection, and that is Narcissus. "Nar-cis-sus" would not work of course because it is also a three syllable word. I hoped that maybe the French, Italian, or Latin version of the name might possibly be two syllables. No such luck! I did not find a replacement word that I could use, so I had to change the poem.

Though I did not find words that I could use, I did find some ideas that I had at least partially forgotten about. I was reminded that, in the tale of Narcissus, the blind prophet Tiresias had warned Narcissus's mother that Narcissus would live "to old age unless he recognized himself." Of course, we know that Narcissus died pining away for his own reflection in a clear water of a pool. Some versions of the story say the he was punished by the gods for rejecting the nymph Echo. Others merely say that he had an inordinate amount of pride and self-love in a lethal combination. Anyway, rereading some of the myths about Narcissus changed the direction of my poem, especially at the end.

Also, I found out that Narcissus is the genus of the flowers commonly called jonquils or daffodils. I did not know that some jonquils or daffodils are incorrectly labeled as lilies. The little yellow, so-called "Easter Lily" is one such example. It is either a jonquil or a daffodil, but it is not a lily because lilies are a completely different genus. There are real Easter Lilies (Lilium longiflorum), but they are much larger, mostly white flowers. The picture that I posted above are of the genus Narcissus. I call call them lilies, Kellie calls them lilies, but they are either jonquils or daffodils. Go figure!

All righty! Here is the revised poem. Enjoy!



Narcissus Learns

Look at me! Do not dare turn your eyes away!

This is the crumbling shell in which we live,

Prickling with stiff hairs of white and gray,

Rigid with vengeful pains that will not forgive.

I know this face’s features. I’ve seen those eyes

Full of joie de vie and mischievous twinkles,

Green and gold like springtide’s first disguise

Laughing back at me beneath lids free of wrinkles.

I recall those pliant lips, the easy smile

That crinkled in each cheek a happy dimple,

A chin, unbearded, when whiskers weren’t in style

And razoring the velvet skin was simple.

I remember how I paused at every mirror

In a time when what I saw I loved the most,

Then hatred grew as blemishes got clearer,

And I found my body lacking as a host.

Do we still love me, Narcissus, or no?

Your silence begs the questions cast from mine?

What time we’ve wasted…we should let it go

And read this wordless meeting as sign.


If I am to live life long, then I must pass

Each surface that reveals me in its glass

And set my gaze on future, wiser ends

Where beauty, truth, and time are still my friends.

Comments


I find that I cannot exist without Poetry--without eternal poetry--half the day will not do--the whole of it--I began with a little, but habit has made me a Leviathan.-John Keats

We do not quite say that the new is more valuable because it fits in; but its fitting in is a test of its value.-T. S. Eliot

A man may praise and praise, but no one recollects but that which pleases.-George Gordon, Lord Byron

The great beauty of poetry is that it makes everything in every place interesting.-John Keats

Our faulty elder poets sacrificed the passion and passionate flow of poetry to the subtleties of intellect and to the stars of wit; the moderns to the glare and glitter of a perpetual, yet broken and heterogeneous imagery, or rather to an amphibious something, made up, half of image, and half of abstract meaning. The one sacrificed the heart to the head; the other both heart and head to point and drapery.-S. T. Coleridge

The purpose of rhythm, it has always seemed to me, is to prolong the moment of contemplation, the moment when we are both asleep and awake, which is the one moment of creation.-W. B. Yeats

bottom of page