I'm using the prompt from yesterday to write a poem about stars, specifically constellations.
While looking up all the cool names of the constellations and scribbling notes I suddenly realised that I have never been able to actually make out a constellation in the sky. I find it impossible to denote the pattern. No matter how hard I try!
Right so, poem content sorted.
Right so, poem content sorted.
On Not Seeing Constellations
There are necklaces beaded in the stars -
pearls of myth, diamonds of stories told.
Talismans, truths, makeshift maps
for seafarers, sky-gazers, bemused lovers.
But I can never see the constellations, can never
join the dots in coordinate elation, find patterns
join the dots in coordinate elation, find patterns
plotted by eager sky cartographers. Cassiopeia
is a squiggled line. Little Dipper a kite I cannot find.
is a squiggled line. Little Dipper a kite I cannot find.
Instead I see handfuls of thrown cosmic glitter:
suspended night after night in clusters of mystery.
A pointillist's parade of over-zealous wonder.
Giddy freckles running riot with the black.
Giddy freckles running riot with the black.
Who tries to regulate a sparkling of sequins?
Or find linear direction in a feckless Fate, generous
epiphany in geometric order? Leave it be. Random
is the dazzler. The asteriks keep multiplying ad infinitum -
epiphany in geometric order? Leave it be. Random
is the dazzler. The asteriks keep multiplying ad infinitum -
and I prefer to meander my own way.
"Random is the dazzler" - I LOVE that line so much, I can't even tell you.
ReplyDeleteStars creep into my poetry constantly. I try to shoo them out, sometimes, but they cling to my hands, my hair, my boots. They won't be shooed.
I like what you've done with the theme in this one, too. I think stars are one of the subjects that are so huge and so written about (very often badly) that it can be hard to approach. But I don't sense any hesitation from you here. I like how you start with all the things stars are, and mean, addressing the mythology of them, addressing their importance - before admitting that they are something different to you, and more random, that you can't see in them the categories, the order. "Who tries to regulate a sparkling of sequins?" Indeed! And lovely wordplay there too - the k/qu makes the phrasing sound twinkly. Lovely.
Thank you Cheryl :)
ReplyDeleteI feel this one is a bit wordy - but as we know, these are only beginning drafts. I think stars are a poet's prerogative - they have to come in somewhere! But honestly, I can never see constellations, no matter how hard I look. I'm pattern deficient!