the strangeness that follows a dance
A new poem... as of last night, it's been awhile since I've posted anything. This is another draft version, but you know I like to leave those drafts online. For whoever will like to see them. This poem may be a little wierd, but it was a response to a dance performance that I saw last night--also a little wierd, but beautiful in its strangeness. Here we go, comment as you like.
LIGHT THAT SHADOWS A DANCE
Flung their arms, legs into the whereabouts of motion–
light bulbs remember an invisible man–
the artwork, the book, the ceiling falling of light bulbs,
sky collapsing a darkness with electricity
and nothing calm. Not a sway exactly,
a lilting body-echo jilted and broken off at every
moment a new direction like a line of thought.
Yet somehow their gray sweeping gowns followed
each thought to its end. An overlap, sigh,
poetic sensation and darkness they wanted
to drown on their dance, shadows cast against gray
conflict inside the machine: wailing repetition. A breaking
off from repetition–a jilt, not a sway. Not the embracing
bodies compressed to a rock, gently. Not the gender-confusion:
man in a dress, boy-girl gnawing an apple to its poison core. Not even
putting the art on paper, in words, articulating
meaning, furthering thought. But the lusting,
demonic rape, broken minds and a silver, prostrate bicycle hiding
a pearl from her destroyer. First they were
a school of fish: together, then separate–
jilted again. And the pain of a classroom, of desks,
neon lights: a Benjamin Franklin game of invention.
Confinement to a room, a factory piecing together shoes,
shoes and a worship of shoes. Colonization pained them, but so did their own
destroyers in gray, thrusting their minds around
baby-hairs of pastel cheeks. They were this teeth-opening experience.
LIGHT THAT SHADOWS A DANCE
Flung their arms, legs into the whereabouts of motion–
light bulbs remember an invisible man–
the artwork, the book, the ceiling falling of light bulbs,
sky collapsing a darkness with electricity
and nothing calm. Not a sway exactly,
a lilting body-echo jilted and broken off at every
moment a new direction like a line of thought.
Yet somehow their gray sweeping gowns followed
each thought to its end. An overlap, sigh,
poetic sensation and darkness they wanted
to drown on their dance, shadows cast against gray
conflict inside the machine: wailing repetition. A breaking
off from repetition–a jilt, not a sway. Not the embracing
bodies compressed to a rock, gently. Not the gender-confusion:
man in a dress, boy-girl gnawing an apple to its poison core. Not even
putting the art on paper, in words, articulating
meaning, furthering thought. But the lusting,
demonic rape, broken minds and a silver, prostrate bicycle hiding
a pearl from her destroyer. First they were
a school of fish: together, then separate–
jilted again. And the pain of a classroom, of desks,
neon lights: a Benjamin Franklin game of invention.
Confinement to a room, a factory piecing together shoes,
shoes and a worship of shoes. Colonization pained them, but so did their own
destroyers in gray, thrusting their minds around
baby-hairs of pastel cheeks. They were this teeth-opening experience.
posted by B-Go at
10:21 PM
4 Comments:
i love how you use words! i really like this, especially the "teeth-opening experience" - nice. :)
By
strunny, At
2:17 PM
p.s. what dance were you at? for school? friends?
By
strunny, At
2:18 PM
did the dance depict the history of the people? the part about"conflict inside the machine; wailing repetition..." and on down through "the lusting demonic rape..." sentence sounds like an invasion by an enemy.
Am I imagining that?
this was interesting SAG
By
Anonymous, At
9:41 PM
Thanks so much for your comments!
The dance was a performance by a Japanese dance company and a friend gave me a ticket, he had been given the tickets by another friend... I think in the writing of this, I was trying to process the dance and the meaning of it. That's where the line, "putting the art on paper, in words, articulating meaning, furthering thought," came from. The dance was such a weird experience and seemed so full of meaning that I had to get it down, I had to at least try to understand some of its meaning. Besides, how can anyone else get an idea of the wonder of art like that unless it's captured somehow--even if in another form. This has been dominating my thoughts lately.... wondering about writing down an imagined piece of art, and describing it in detail before the artwork has actually been made. Then the writing will be the artwork first, and then maybe another representation of that artwork can be made. I hope this makes some sense, I think I need to experiment with the idea on my own...
Anyway, to speak to SAG's comments:
you were not imagining the enemy-like presence in the poem. The conflict, the rape, etc... those are all clues to some sort of oppression over a group of people. I was curious and need to reread the brief description of the dance, but I believe the dancers to be telling a story--of their history. It seemed as though there was somehow a story of colonization by western civilizations over them and this was oppressive; but the people seemed to be oppressed from the very beginning by their own people... hmmm... interesting. It reminds me of my Native American Literature class freshman year.
Alright. Enough, no one wants to read all of this, but I appreciate those who do :).
By
B-Go, At
9:55 AM
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home