‘Edenbray in Exile’
A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays
… … …
(here in the boxcar)
. . . ” .
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
. . . . :
#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