Under the overturned lute with its
One string I am going my way
Which has a strange sound
W.S. Merwin
Once a god gaped
and regurgitated the cosmos.
I wipe the spittle of stars
from my eyes
wondering about my designated place –
why particles of the air shift
around my lack of importance
and my unperfection.
There was a plan once
but I was never part of it –
neither heaven nor earth
were moved for me.
Day 20 ~ Unperfect
This detachment or distance from an overarching plan or purpose to life is great — the "unperfection" certainly makes it comforting as a position of self-assertion of our identity. That's how I read it! A wonderful poem! :-)
ReplyDeleteI like your reading of the word in context. I read one of Rajani's poems which got me thinking about how much importance we place on individual significance - so many of us become navel-gazers over time, consumed by our need always to be right, but as a speck of the cosmos, human concern is rendered ludicrous.
Delete"I wipe the spittle of stars from my eyes wondering about my designated place," .. this is such a heart-wrenchinly beautiful image, Kerry! 📝❤️ It reminded me of a quote by Carl Sagan which states; “We are a way for the cosmos to know itself.”😃
ReplyDeleteI like that quote! Thanks, Sanaa.
DeleteYes, what I get is something about our own self importance...the voice of the poem is saying, perhaps, she is really not that important, not a part of the "plan,"she wondering about her place/or purpose?
ReplyDeleteIt comes to a shock to some to make this realization.
Delete"around my lack of importance"
ReplyDeleteNow my mouth is agape. I cannot fathom you feeling this way; you are so brilliant, beautiful, and captivating! I suppose you don't know I read everything you write, multiple times, but feel completely inadequate and too inferior to leave frequent comments.
As far as I'm concerned, your one of the central, biggest, brightest, and most colorful planets, if a moon, I'd like to dance around.
Ah, thank you, my dear friend. You have been my anchor in stormier seas than these. We all have our season, our time of influence in a very small sphere - not quite a planet, but a moon perhaps. Sometimes the effort strikes me as futile, not just for me but for all human endeavour, when everything we make breaks and comes to eventual ruin.
DeleteThere is a crack in everything....that's how the light gets in. (Cohen)
ReplyDeleteI love "I wipe the spittle of stars from my eyes" !! I gained as much from the comments as from the poem.
ReplyDeleteI am thrilled by the dialogue of April as much as by the poetry itself! Thank you, Sherry.
DeleteI wonder about my designated place too. And wonder some more...
ReplyDeleteIt is a conundrum.
DeleteTo be left like this... I feel sometimes that even if the universe is vast, it's hard to fit in the way we are supposed to do... as if there is order in the chaos.
ReplyDeleteWe like to believe it is all not a random accident, but I have my doubts.
DeleteI Kinda' Chuckled At This Creative Awareness. "Not For Me".
ReplyDeleteI'll take a chuckle round about now.. Thanks!
DeleteWhat foolish being humans are when in reality we are but specks in the cosmos useless when alive but of more use when dead as we can feed a lot of worms.
ReplyDeleteHow very true.
DeleteWonderful images in those first two verses! After reading the rest, I wanted to cuddle you and say, 'Aww, I'm sure that's not true' – but I see from the comments that you might find comfort a bit misplaced for the clarity of your realisation.
ReplyDeleteHaha! But I'd never say no to a warm hug!
DeleteA bit chilling really when one reflects that there WAS a plan once, but one was never part of it. Seems like a very lonely place to be!
ReplyDeleteI like the couplet about the plan. A good read, thank you.
ReplyDeleteoh, you know I play with words. for example, chaos. or, random. or, ran dumb.
ReplyDeletebecause I suspect that's what most of we bipeds do ~