The Black-necked Stilt (or, The Remembering To Forget Song)
A wandering and frequent intermission of attention
In which ideas slip irretrievably away
Would perhaps have something merciful in it
Were a few choice wriggling grubs
The lingering fugitive scraps of some possibly useful knowledge of the fleeting universe
Remaining alive squirming curiously about waiting
To be plucked from the mud flats of the dilapidated mind
By a Black-necked Stilt
So determines the confused old person
Recognizing in the same moment
It was never going to have a say in any of this
The evanescence of pleasing images and the persistent adhesion of painful ones
The worst of both worlds
The world of forgetting and the world of remembering
A wandering and frequent intermission of attention
In which ideas slip irretrievably away
OK it may not not sound all that great as a default state of mind
But surely there must be something merciful in it
Muses the old person to no one in particular
Recognizing in the same moment it was never going to have a say in any of this
Somewhere in the haunted house a light bulb flickers on then off again
Fitfully whispering in the mind a complicated arpeggio
Which may or may not resemble the complicated arpeggio
Which decorates the opening bars
Of the Remembering To Forget song
Himantopus mexicanus
Himantopus mexicanus
Himantopus mexicanus
The old person dimly remembers a long childhood illness
Months alone in a dark room
During which the meanings of words slipped away common words
Becoming more and more strange and unrecognizable until all meaning had evaporated
At this late date the old person has determined it is the business of life to go forward
Even if the drift of the mind moves toward the past inexorably
One who catches evil in retrospect must first turn back to find it
That regrets are no more than afflictive encumbrances this much it knows
This is not useful knowledge
This kind of arid harvest would be of no interest to Himantopus mexicanus
The struggle to recapture the past is a vain struggle
The small birds in the old dying and bare plum tree singing their own small versions
Of the Remembering To Forget song
As from a great distance
Penetrating the twisted leafless winter branches with the first weak rays of early morning sun
The small birds and the tall thin birds each in their own way conducting the daily business
Of moving life forward
That movie about memory loss
Whose title the old person can no longer remember the labour of recollection not worth it
The small birds in the old plum tree singing So long So long
The Remember To Forget song
5 comments:
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"The green casque has outdone your elegance." Your Himantopus mexicanus is such a lovely creature. Like our soft, high-stepping Recurvirostra americana its elegance is not easily outdone. Such a nice image this is: "The small birds and the tall thin birds each in their own way conducting the daily business/Of moving life forward". I'm feeling just a little better.
P.S.Mister Big Stuff was nasty good. Oh my oh my, how do you come up with this...big stuff?
Thanks very much, Tom.
The astonishing ingratitude of Drumpf in regard to the magnificent diversity of creatures existing within what is now allegedly "his" country takes my breath away (he croaked).
Jean Wright's hit tune about our gross POTUS has to be heard as prophetic, now.
But has not politics always lagged in catching up with the truths told in our American music... another national resource forsworn!
Bannon--the face any screwed-up mother would love.
The kind of face that bespeaks the history of a great hatred against everything living.
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