The Fullness That Precedes
it is not
the moon but
rain that attracts
me to this
place no faint
light no shadow
but the fullness
that precedes its
history that of
magic from nothing
to nothing by
which one may
discern perfection a
cloud the solitary
note of distraction
Written in the 80s, “The Fullness That Precedes” first appeared here in May 2015.
O at the Edges 
Reading this, I found myself thinking of an oboe, a French horn, or a bassoon soliloquy rising in counterpoint mid-symphony to the rest of the orchestra — the way it seemingly appears from nothing and promptly returns to nothing, as if it were never there; and yet, somehow, for the apprehender of stimulus who’s especially prone to “distraction” (perhaps, defined as a constitutional predilection for attending to the pre-filtered “fullness” by which utility is only distinguished in contrast, over utility for its own sake), it is the singularly defining note, the necessary predecessor to all sense and meaning, which *never wasn’t there*, the eternal, essential voice (which sounds an awful lot like the Logos — the concept of a “creative life force” that was once synonymous with God, whose translation into “word” restricted its definition into that which can be invoked by privileged humans to dictate hierarchical/exploitative power structures — but I digress…) that has always spoken the precognitive language of goose-bumps directly into my skin, and which I’ve spent my life as a poet trying to approximate with the utilitarian construct (words!) whose very purpose it is to mute that boundless, primordial voice… which, I suppose, is why there’s nothing straightforward or efficient about us poets, always shouldering the weight of what would be lost without us, even as we recognize that our being all but helpless to account for it, makes it all the more critical that we try. [How’s that for a run-on-sentence? Ha!]
I know literally next to nothing about music, by the way — I mean, I can identify a symphony by name and/or composer if it appeared in Fantasia, and that’s about the extent of it — which is something of a testament to the evocative power of your 80s proto-poem here.
Wow. This really spoke to me today.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Funny you should mention counterpoint, as at the time I wrote this series of poems I’d been discussing various elements of classical music with The Lovely Wife. I knew absolutely nothing about music theory back then, and only a little bit now, but Lissa knew (and knows) a lot. I tried (perhaps too overtly) and failed multiple times at incorporating into my poetry musical techniques/forms such as counterpoint (bringing to mind a laughably bad attempt at a fugue), but they remained in the back of my mind as something to revisit.
LikeLiked by 1 person
See? You must have put the counterpoint in there, to distract me from neglecting to perceive it. 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ha! If I did, it was certainly unintentional.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I don’t doubt that. 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Very nice
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Matt.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Moon vs rain as attractant … would this have been written during a drought? I am fascinated by the 2nd image, colors of Arizona, Colorado,or Utah; and that iron ring might hold one to the spot wishing for a cloud of distraction … ???
LikeLiked by 1 person
I can’t remember, but don’t think we were suffering through anything but our usual rainless periods. I’m not certain why I chose that image except it seemed somehow appropriate. Hmm. I seem to know nothing today. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
You know so well how to spark imagination!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ha!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I like that you’ve a fullness, even in nothing.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You would think that would make me an excellent dieter.
LikeLike
Pingback: The fullness that precedes – Platypus Lady