"Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky,
We fell them down and turn them into paper,
That we may record our emptiness."
Khalil Gibran

Sunday, April 30, 2017

Epitaph

Caught between sky and earth,
Poor stupid animal,
Stripped naked to the wall,
He saw the blundered birth
Of daemons beyond sound.
Sick of the dark, he rose
For love, and now he goes
Back to the broken ground.
James Wright


All Rights Reserved
Photograph colourized by
Frederic Duriez


XXX

It is the day, we bid farewell to
at its death, and its corpse
we carry from this battleground
with simple benediction.
Once we welcomed the light
but not when it rolled
and broke upon this strand
of the maimed and shone
too brightly on the flotsam
of the wrack without care.
This day must be interred
with all the other nameless
fallen days, and we who live
salute, recall each particular
grain we ever breathed of sun.


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Björn is out host for the final day of NaPoWriMo, with his prompt Particle-Wave Dualism.
It seems a fitting day for an epitaph, thus I have returned to the theme of war, and the photographic genius of Frederic Duriez.

Since the images have automatic links at the Source to be shared on multiple social platforms, I have selected one for this post. If the owner of the image objects to the manner and purpose for which it is displayed, please contact the Blog author.

32 comments:

  1. This is perfect, the grain of the sun, the remembrance of the days of the battle, and that image putting color to the trenches of war....

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    1. Having read yours, I see we are once again in harmony with the metaphor of the wave upon the shore...

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  2. Sadly beautiful. Thank you for all your lovely poetry this month.

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    1. And the same to you, Rosemary. It has been a very fine month for poets.

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  3. This is soo poignant and beautiful both at the same time!

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    1. I'm happy to get that balance right. Thank you.

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  4. Very fitting to close a wonderful month long poetry-fest.Thanks for all the support and for your amazing poems this last 30 days.

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    1. My thanks to you, kind sir. It has been a blast.

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  5. Luv the metaphor of ending and sad partings in your poem
    April is truly a grueling month poetry-wise
    Have a nice Sunday

    much love...

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    1. It takes a lot of commitment, but I have been most inspired by the wealth of poetry.

      Much love to you.

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  6. re-interpreting poems the way you do is evidently inspirational. Love these lines particularly:
    " this strand
    of the maimed and shone
    too brightly"

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    1. I confess it is my day job, and yes, inspiring to say the least.

      Thank you.

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  7. as I inter my pen into the waiting earth, I will remember this, too, dear Kerry. yes, I'll again be a ghost, if not quite so invisible. the pot is stirred at the moment; perhaps a few light meals can be scraped from it. ~

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    1. Well, I shall stick around for the occasional golden grape...

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  8. I love the lines:
    'Once we welcomed the light
    but not when it rolled
    and broke upon this strand
    of the maimed and shone
    too brightly on the flotsam
    of the wrack without care'.
    And the final lines are superb:
    'salute, recall each particular
    grain we ever breathed of sun'.

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    1. Thanks, Kim. I wrote the last line before I got there.. had to feel my way to the end.

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  9. Everyone should read the tale of the Battle of Ypres, three solid years of bombardment, bullets, annihilation and stench. (You could smell the Front from miles away.) Light here has inverted to its other, is of a human darkness too great to account. And the "particular grain" is each moment shrill with death. Would that humanity could be harrowed by its sins.

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    1. Yes, in the words of Macbeth: I am/ (we are) in blood. Stepped in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.

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  10. Oh my goodness, this is so... heavy, yet lifting up somehow... this really moves me:
    "This day must be interred
    with all the other nameless
    fallen days"
    What a line, Kerry, wow.
    It has been a pleasure to write with you all month, friend! And now to not *completely* fall off :) xo

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    1. It has indeed been a rare pleasure to be writing side by side with my favourite poets.. I couldn't not.

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  11. Strong finish with this one. Thank you. I've enjoyed all your work this month

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  12. Beautiful and sad. If it were really so, the mornings of peace would be here already. One day...

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    1. That we hope for peace is, I believe, the only exoneration of the human race.

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  13. A terribly sad poem and sad photograph and sad Wright. Agh. Your poems have been so good but you are unfortunately so great at the elegaic! Yet, your spirit is pretty darn strong and seems to go on even with that very sensitive consciousness. Thanks, Kerry. I've not taken full advantage of this April but did get back a bit, which has been due in large part to your kindness and Michael's. Thanks. k.

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    1. Thank you for understanding the mind behind the words, Karin (when I don't always get it myself).

      I have been more than happy to read your words this month, more greedy than kind, I fear.

      :-)

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  14. Such beauty in this poem of melancholy. Oh how I wish those who want peace could stop those who hunger for war.

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    1. We do outnumber them, don't we? But they have guns.

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  15. This rings true of wars, so hard on those involved. Those not, well they may become indifferent. I wish it were different. I had a bit of trouble with "recall each particular
    grain we ever breathed of sun." It is fine, but a really tough to follow order.
    ..

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    1. One becomes indifferent through saturation, I think.
      Thanks, Jim.

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  16. loved the closing lines...and the line where the light broke upon the strand of maimed .......even though it is sad, the wave and particle kind of feel here is beautiful!

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  17. The last line makes me think of experiences, of the way we collect them--one at a time--before we can build our selves real. I wonder if when we reach our final moment, we consider all the ones that came before... just like the living seem to recall all they ever knew about the newly dead as the corpses are reclaimed by the dirt.

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Let's talk about it.