Hail
My hands know the sadness of rock,
of unfinished lines and rough
sides tapering to sharpness.
The shape of solitude, turning.
Now the stones fall as water,
a woman lets down her hair
and laughter chokes through silence.
Into this dream I ascend.
The sadness of rock… nice line!
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Thank you, Daniel.
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You got here before me Daniel i was going to say something about that line.
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🙂
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Sadness and stone is not your ordinary “go to” poetic inclination. It is like Okaji-sensei reaches into the tree of Life and gingerly plucks these words while I scrabble around underneath for fallen fruit: mushy and late!
くそ!I need a ladder!
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It’s the animist in me…
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Speaking of animism…that reminds me. I still haven’t told you my Amaterasu-Omikami story yet.
I’ll e-mail it later… I really should stop staying up so damn late! Bedtime!
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I agree ..sadness and rock have by not usually being associated poetically together but you made it flawlessly beautiful..
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Thank you. I have a relationship with rock, which is not, as you might expect, reciprocal. 🙂
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😊
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Hail to rock
in the slow melt of impossible time
sharp falls to its own equanimity
all edges rounding
in the blink of eons
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Most of my edges have become well rounded, and it didn’t take eons.
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How do you know? (LOL)
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Good point (or rounded edge)!
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Beautiful
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Thank you, Ruth-Anne. Much appreciated.
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So, with your rock’s sublimation into water (and the ensuing “falling up”), I’m now thinking about a realization I had recently — that bone is no less tissue in its own right than flesh… But what constitutes the difference in both cases? Under what circumstances do hands learn the rock’s sadness? Loneliness? The expectation that they ought to be something in particular, or worse, that not enough is expected of them? I like the thought-path this piece invites.
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The obvious answer is the difference lies in the ways they manifest. But that’s a simplistic view. As for the rock’s sadness, perhaps the poet is projecting his own little sadness – in this case, a realization of limitation, that working with stone – building stacked rock walls, etc., is no longer viable (one needs good knees). So the rock learns the hands’ sadness. Or not. But such is the path of that first line.
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Weird. I never received a notification that you’d replied to my comment, but only just stumbled across it now.
I’ve got all kinds of parts that know the sadness of inanimate things these days. Maybe it’s not the best place to wallow, though. Better to dream…
Gute Nacht, Lieber Herr Robert! (Deutsch is the one language other than English that I actually do speak…)
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Perhaps a little wallowing (or wallering, as we say here), supplanted by dreams?
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Sure. We mustn’t discount the wallering as a reasonable (and perhaps, the only viable) place to start… It’s good for me to be reminded of such things. 😉
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I try to not waller too much, but there are those days!
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Perhaps the hands know the sadness of rock as the flesh knows the sadness of bone. Bone performs with the body as rock performs with earth, spacing and separating flesh to maximize synchrony, expressing intention, a harmony of elements…and values. So the face of earth changes as rock ages, changes contour, records time. The slow symphony of unending bardo.
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“spacing and separating flesh to maximize synchrony, expressing intention, a harmony of elements…and values.”
Amen!
The intention of inviting space — so hard for bone, particularly when flesh insists on advancing its own, often maladaptive ideas! But definitely not impossible, as I’m coming to learn slowly but surely through studying Alexander Technique — constitutes the difference between embracing change and attempting to defy it, and ultimately sets the tone for how we inhabit the “unending bardo” of our bodies.
Sadness can be that quality in us which either acknowledges pain, mourns, and then participates in necessary (a.k.a. unavoidable) change, or experiences pain as the void of purgatory. Sir Robert’s poem speaks to the former, I think!
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I’ve spent much time in that symphony, in that “between.”
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This is one of my favourites
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High praise! Thank you.
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I love the tension and resolution created in just a few words. Sadness resolved to laughter, and within those bookends, solitude resolved in the addition of another individual, a woman. Génial!
P.S. Thank you for the like!
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Thank you for your kind and astute comments!
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Superb. I could almost hear the hair coming down, I hear the rock.
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The rock is still speaking!
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This really brought me back to my rock climbing days and a particular week spent climbing in Yosemite. One of the beauties of a poem is how it evokes unique personal reactions, I see this as I compare mine to those of others in the comments.
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And this is why I find it difficult to answer the oft-asked question “what does the poem mean?”
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This is such a unique poem. Strange but beautiful picture created in my mind. It makes me think. Keep writing, I love your prose and look foward to reading it.
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You’ve made my day. Thank you.
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