Monday, February 12, 2007

Hallowed [A Poem-Thing]










Hallowed


In an instant every place
You were is hallowed.
The signboard and its menu.
The window you peered into,
Rejecting the décor.
The chair you draped your black
Scarf over. Hallowed.

You turned your face aside
Laughing, when I misjudged
The power of wasabi.
We waltzed to no music
And later, in an instant, the paper
Cups we tossed became holy.

A taxi took you.
And I walked those damp,
Fresh, haunted streets.
The grey bookstore-cat
Looked up at me,
Wondering

How can I be here?
And you,
Not.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2007

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2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Mmmmmmmm.
Wonderful, cipriano.
Every word.
Beautifully lined (so much subtext even in the careful lining) and expressed with an intense compression of language.

As a very inexperienced writer myself, I always feel that it takes considerable finesse to convey sincere, heartfelt sentiment and yet not have the work seem overly "sentimental," but simply genuine and spontaneous. You seem to have mastered this skill. Or perhaps it is just something one is born with.

It's really beautifully done. I find all your work wonderful, but - as George Orwell might say - some work is even more wonderful than others.

How about you meet me over by the fiction shelf, near the M's. I'll be the one coaxing the grey cat into my arms. I'd like to hear you read this one aloud.

Love your work.

cipriano said...

Thank you for this.
Thank you for your kind words, anonymous.
And coming from you [I know you are Billy Collins, in cognito] I am especially honored.
Your mention of the "compression of language" makes me feel as though I am accomplishing at least one of the goals of my poetry, which is "economy of words." If nothing else, I try to end up with what I consider to be the lowest common denominator in the expression of idea.
As George Orwell might say, "Good writing is like a windowpane."
Too thick is too blurry, and uninviting.
Too thin, well… one wants to peer in without fear of breaking the thing when you rest your mittens upon it to cut the glare of reflection.
It is only afterward, as you back away, that you want to see yourself in it.
Sturdy is good.
I try, in my poetic efforts, to say much without using much.
To paint as big as I can with as little paint as possible.
And now, here in my response to your comment, I am violating that very rule, and waxing verbose.

In conclusion:
Hallowed be thy comments!

Yes, I will meet you in the "M's" if you like.
And especially if you are NOT Billy Collins, but of that fairer gender. As I suspect you are, by your own succinctly expressed desire…