“And In the Timing”

“And In the Timing”

And in the timing looking toward the left or right

I am arrested on a cliff, bereft

Of reckoning what is left

In me beyond the trappings of a simple light

And memories catalogued, together bound

In burgundies and beige, and with the odd in olive green,

The velvets of their spines lean this way, seen

Like houses on a narrow Upstate Albany block; I’ve found

It so, conveniently I guess. There is no slight adherence

Here to regimen, no lesser well-warn track to rhyme

With hours or days as I would have them, nothing timed

In what I spy within the closet or the dreadlocks of my clock, but clearance

And permission to proceed through standing weeds my gentle paces

As if bound by who it is I am, and nothing more than what my bulk displaces.

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5 responses to ““And In the Timing”

  1. Hoping the voice of this poem is not you…

  2. I share the same stage as Hamlet, himself. He may have restored the kingdom to salvation, but knew he would not live to reign. At the very least, the consolation prize must have been that he did not marry his mother while he cut the cheese in Denmark.

  3. I’m afraid your response is completely opaque to me 😦

  4. Yes, well, I have been quite ill lately and the poem reflected my own feeling that with all that is happening in the world on the one hand, and all that I am feeling personally on the other, there is little “left In me beyond the trappings of a simple light And memories catalogued,” and in all honesty, despite the “negative” I see, I am grateful to God that 1.) He created me, and, 2.) that for whatever the reasons, He has seen fit to allow me to see all this in a positive light, at least enough so that I am enabled to perceive His permission to eliminate the “negative” in a kind of “clearance” each day, and graciously allowed me ” permission to proceed through” what seems like “standing weeds” in ” my gentle paces” through each day “bound” perhaps “by who it is I am, and nothing more than what my bulk displaces,” or, in other words that I am nothing more than His creation hoping to God that I do not harm His Cause through my own feeble efforts to support that same Cause. In this, there seemed to me to be a kind of similarity to Hamlet’s expressed difficulties in seeing this world without utter dismay:

    “O that this too too solid flesh would melt,
    Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
    Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d
    His canon ’gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!
    How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
    Seem to me all the uses of this world!
    Fie on’t! O fie! ’tis an unweeded garden,
    That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
    Possess it merely. That it should come to this!” *

    Basically, then, my comment referred to the fortunate, elephantine bounty there is that I somehow found the Cause of God and have been enabled, even after over four decades of watching the ominous signs of the moral and religious decay of our civilisation to see the truth of His Word confirmed in my life no matter how “unweeded” this garden may be: “Verily, there is naught from which Our favour hath been withheld, inasmuch as We have dealt equitably in the fashioning of each and all, and by a word of Our mouth presented unto them the trust of Our love. They that have accepted it are indeed safe and secure, and are numbered among those who are immune from the terrors of this Day.” **
    I appear to myself to be somewhat immune to “the terrors of this Day” insofar as I have apparently been supported and enabled enough to remain positive even though without doubt what is happening in this world and in the world of just about anyone I know may be terrible, indeed. Somehow, despite such visions I see where all this is leading and can accept the fact that what is happening to the world today must happen and will of course become worse first, long before it gets better, and of course, there is no doubt that one day, it will in fact get better.

    My reference to Hamlet’s “consolation prize” refers to my own certain gratefulness that things are not worse in my life than they already are. Had Hamlet met Oedipus and compared their respective trials and tribulations, certainly, at the very least Hamlet did not marry his mother and/or have children by her which of course Oedipus was entirely unable to avoid.

    I beg your pardon that my response to your remark was opaque as you mentioned; it certainly wasn’t my intention when I wrote it. It illustrates some of the problems that you, yourself, have clearly written on your own site concerning the potential problems of communicating with anyone through the media of technology. No matter what my original intention was in writing my comment to you, there was and is the potential of creating confusion. Again, please pardon the liberties I took with my remark.

    * Hamlet, Act I, scene ii (129–158) for the entire soliloquy
    ** Baha’u’llah, The Summons of the Lord of Hosts, p. 27

  5. No need to excuse yourself on my account—I too am under the gun of this melting melange of a world…

    I love your line: “…hoping to God that I do not harm His Cause through my own feeble efforts to support that same Cause.”

    My novel and its two forthcoming companion volumes (short stories and poems) are, I truly feel, my last acts for God’s Cause, as far as directed efforts—I may live beyond their publication but I’m feel it will be a “normal”, day-to-day kind of living; not this out-of-space-and-time Creativity—which I pray will, in fact, will help His Cause………

    Here is my “Hamlet moment”—written about 15 years ago:

    Response

    Only briefly,
    Whispering soft,
    Comes the
    Visitation.
    Tickling limbs,
    Diverting thought,
    Most precious
    Delectation.
    Captured in the
    Afterglow,
    Burning from the
    Root.
    Death is welcomed as a
    Friend for
    Life is merely
    Moot.

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