May I Be Familiar
Do we find you in what you’ve left or where you’ve gone.
In words you could not form, or forgot long ago.
Missing the pastels, the shades, all nuance.
With moistened hands, I pat rice into a ball and wrap it in seaweed.
By my reckoning, the word who no longer implicates.
Ritual accumulates significance in memory.
Forgotten fruit on the sill. A whisper nailed to the wall.
Honor and pride line your earthen home.
Though you never did, I pickle ginger. Make takuan.
The transparent house reflects no gaze and contains no one.
Gathering your absence, I coil it around my body.
* * *
“May I Be Familiar” is included in my mini-digital chapbook, Interval’s Night, published by Platypus Press as part of their 2412 series.
THIS IS SIMPLY AWESOME
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Thank you very much!
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Reblogged this on Praying for Eyebrowz and commented:
Your combination of the every day and the heartbreaking always shakes me to the core.
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Thanks for reblogging this, Leslie, and for your unending kindness.
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I absolutely love your poetry.
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Now I’m blushing. But appreciative! 😊
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This is a fantastic piece of writing….loved it !
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Thank you, Chhaya. Much appreciated.
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My pleasure 🙂
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“Gathering your absence, I coil it around my body.” Yes and yes! This rings so deeply true of my own experiences with the loss of a loved one. Loss is a universal fact that transcends our questions, and exists beyond/despite “reckoning” — and yet, what help is there, anyway, for: “Why are you closer than ever to me now that you’re gone?” or “Why can I gather you about me to mingle with my own, devastated nakedness now, so that you can heal me in a way I could not heal you?” We still ask, all the same…
Though loss is ungraspably infinite and unavoidable, it seems that we have somehow developed the capacity to measure out grief molecule by molecule, to make it our own, and according to our own, “familiar” terms. I especially love how this poem poses (unanswerable) questions while categorically stripping them of their viability by denying them the standard, demarcating punctuation, and demoting the quintessential question word, “*who*,” to a commonness (another form of familiarity?) devoid of “implication.”
This piece is a hallmark of your intuitive brilliance, Sir Robert! It’s perfect.
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I have so few answers, but questions and observations abound.
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I thought I would like to translate this one into Chinese – then I realised that I already did (a different version of it)!
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These poems seem to change of their own volition!
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I must do a new and improved version of my translation. From the sound of my recording it was done in Istanbul.
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I bet it was!
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So beautifully worded!
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Thank you, Vanessa.
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My pleasure! As always!
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It is simple,but bowed an arrow of lost memories. Yes,l also know you .We have met somewhere else!
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Thank you for stopping by.
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An incredible reading experience, Robert and a brilliant display of the complexities of memory.
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Thank you, Kate. Memory, and its complications, fascinate me.
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beautiful!
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Thanks very much!
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‘By my reckoning, the word who no longer implicates.’
A master work this piece is. I will read it more than once.
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You are very generous. Thank you.
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Beautiful 🙂😊
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Thank you!
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I do miss the simple gestures of hands making onigiri. Such a beautiful gesture, in memory, in poetry, in real life. This poem haunts.
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Thanks very much, Craig. Life is made of these simple gestures, little moments, lived and relived.
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I posted a link to this poem on my Facebook feed because I found it to be so profound. However, it means something a little different to me. I help my client authors get a legacy written in the form of a book. I believe creating a book to share your wisdom, your heart and your soul is a very generous act to the world. I am honored to be a part of the process for my clients.
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Thank you, Kate.
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A whisper nailed to the wall.
What a sentence.
I damn near swooned.
❤
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The highest compliment! Thanks, Kathy. Reading poetry can be dangerous. 😬
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