‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

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(here in the boxcar)

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. . . ” .

He only saw white, wishing more they had taken time

Bartholow’s Stand, the small brow of a hill, remote but lonely

Crashing waves always remind us of eternity, or death

. > . . .

Death is never lonely, only coldness, only the west side of Aga Hill

Or that feeling when you see ribbons streaming from mornings mountain

I could have hid my eyes, wrestling with loves pang and regret

. . ; . .

and that never might be the question

but you carry a torch to see where your going, not where you have been

looking back never requires vision, only white-walled tyres and some hooch

. < . . .

I whispered my inhibitions so many the times

If I thought it would release me, the priests window?

If I carried enough tallow or chickens eggs for a supper?

 . / . . .

The evening train, packed as usual, makes hardly a sound

drifting through, drifting and I catch sight of daisies in the sun

me and stencilled cases rough, knotted, full of brown bottles

here in the boxcar

. .   . . [

0′ Marianne I never told you and it hurts

we’re always passing through spaces like warm blood in veins

or like clouds swept by rain and memory, they are so cold with ice

] . .   . .

You haunt me so I don’t want ever to sleep

Lest’ I miss you when your spirit passes in the hallway

or we meet out in the street in that dream where I’m falling

. . . = .

I still carry a blunted pencil, a torn, printed flyer with notes

they are the ones where I wrote – I love you and then rubbed it out

that message bites the more against a hollow chest

. . .  ` .

So many things hidden and then a small grey bird

a phone ringing, a dream full of stagnant water closing

and Marianne, honest, happy and standing

here in the boxcar

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writtenbyedenbray24.03.2013

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#Authors note ~ the difference with this Anthology is that I am making what some would say is an honest but fatal mistake. By leaving an individual postscript like this to each piece I am kind of setting myself up for a fall, in that the absence of comment usually allows a creative distance between thought and word and imagination. A sort of suspension of belief akin to an avant-garde Movie. – Truly, not everything needs to be or indeed can be explained.

This piece I wrote at a very different time, almost exactly 7 years ago which is kind of rhythmic symbolism in itself as 7 is to me the perfect number and it could also be described as Dada-esque – hence the abstract frontispiece illustration which I really adore by the way.

It is kind of ‘disconnected’, definitely abstract and enters the arena alongside my many attempts at what I believe may be termed – Jazz Poetry or alternatively ~ my classification – Prog-Prose. With the way things are right now in the world – I love that it’s ‘disconnected’ and runs like a kid’s push-along wooden train – on its own Jazz-tracks – ‘here in the boxcar’.

It’s also sad romanticism, so it gives you a ‘shot’ of two worlds – abstract and new romantics maybe, baby?! Yes, it’s like a double shot of tequila Margherita – it hits you right between the eyes, knocks you sideways and into a different perspective. I for one need that right now and that is why I have selected it as my No.2/50 for this my 2nd Retrospective. – I really hope you dig it fellow beatnik! – Leave me a like and I will love you forever ~ ebtoday