Agapanthus africanus mobius
In walking out, for want of company
I bent and plucked a tender tended leaf
Of agapanthus, lily of the Nile,
To hold between my fingers all the while,
I told myself, and let a smile intrude
To know I held it (all the wile in me)
The more between myself and solitude,
As one who holds out hope of some relief.
I rode the layered waves of mountain shale,
The upthrust seabed, eons old when new;
Upsurfed the soft-breath breaker to its crest,
And stood atop the ocean floor at rest,
Beholding by half-turns the sweep of sea
To south; to north, Los Padres’ grandeured scale.
How small the leaf in hand then seemed to me;
How narrow-vistaed its two-sided view.
Long out of Africa, our long-ago
Dark land-forgotten birthing place, it came,
Long, ribbon-flat, thin-supple by design.
What seer would hold it held a living sign,
A truth as old as time, as in my hand
It lay, two hues of green? How could I know
By gazing on its two-faced surface and,
By twist of thought, its truth divine, and name?
As if I couldn’t stand the truth, I sat
Beholding isles a muse of miles to sea.
Bedreaming so, a truth played out that stands:
Two idle hands can’t long be idle hands.
They worried, turned it overmuch, the leaf;
One gave one end a half twist, held it flat
Against mate end; still I held no belief
A leaf-held truth had been revealed to me.
A free-hand finger idly played at tracing
Round the twisted surface of the band,
Yet couldn’t stop at one for what came round
Each round: one side, one edge, one truth—profound:
An idle half twist made at once all one:
One face, one edge—one truth around it racing:
Nothing ends that’s endlessly begun.
And all this truth, in leaf, I held in hand.
In time I broke the endless circle so,
In letting it go, I might let the truth
Return to being leaf that I might see
The leaf as leaf and not symbolically.
I saw it had two sides of different hue:
Bright-glossy green above, drab green below.
The drab was age and death I fancied; too,
The glossy-bright was life, full green of youth.
In truth, I saw my life and death as one
Long Agapanthus africanus leaf,
Bright-glossy green above, drab green below,
End-joined with half a twist—yet not a show
Of end in sight. In truth, all I could see
Was, for the oneder of its endless run,
A Möbius band made of all of me
—And wave on wave on wave of my re-leaf.
And here is yours, my as-immortal friend:
You’re one, an endless Möbius band, too,
Self-made when you, half twisted in your fear,
Enjoined Death: Sir, my dear life—come not near!
Ensuring, by that blessed fearful act,
Your life by way of death will never end,
A life-eternal, self-revealing fact
That you your living self can prove is true:
Come, you’ve an idle finger, let it trace
Around you that you, too, might know relief:
You’re endless; see, your life flows into death
But to come back to life—all new of breath,
As if some Oneness had your circuit planned.
It’s all right, let your finger touch death’s face;
You’ll weep to see, for oneness of the band,
And soon, your life continued overleaf.
Edited 5 time(s). Last edit at 02/08/2021 03:06AM by dmadison.
David,
It is good to see your work on the board again and the theme in this piece is surprisingly (though not) similar to one that surfaced recently in a conversation with my eldest son. He had watched a documentary about how we see things as being three dimensional, but perhaps there are many more dimensions of which we are unaware. I had written something, though not of this caliber, addressing the subject, but didn't post it. I think I will now.
Good to read your work again. Enjoyed the poem.
Mary
David, you are at your best when you're not trying to humor us. Good job with this one I enjoyed the read. Write more.
Les
Les, I think that even on David's worst day, he would still write better than many of us (I resist the urge to say all for fear of offending anyone)... so we probably humor him without even trying. Though I would agree, David, I prefer reading your more serious pieces.
Mary
David:
You're back with your "A" game. Outstanding piece. Thanks for posting.
Joe
Hello again, old man. Do teach us a few things this visit.
Les, Mary, Joe, Mr. P,
I see what the problem is now: This restaurant is so crowded no one comes here anymore. No wonder the server is so down.
Ever so nice of you, though, to bring me up.
D. M.
Mr. P S: I think Obama has pretty much cornered the market on teachable moments.
Les, Mary, Joe, Mr. P,
I see what the problem is now: This restaurant is so crowded no one comes here anymore. No wonder the server is so down.
Ever so nice of you, though, to bring me up.
D. M.
Mr. P S: I think Obama has pretty much cornered the market on teachable moments.
David, it's good to hear from you. BTW, an 9 hour echo is pretty amazing, talk about your slow internet connections, yours is really bad.
Any writing projects in the works for you lately?
Les
Don't be modest, you're certainly most cunning linguist here.
I have nothing but envy for talented people. I have no talent at all. Strangely, saying it is all work doesn't make me sound at all modest. I hope your audience enjoys you, David.
be well,
Peer
Les,
The problem is that more often than not I am unable to connect. I get a message to check configuration or that the server is down. I don't have a problem with any other web site. Where are the Stephen Fryers of the world when you need them?
Writing projects. I am moving to Belize via Canada (land of Bruce Fader) about November. I have in mind to write a jungle book. I think you can see the possibilities. Apart from a villanelle I haven't written anything for almost a year, what with making preparations. Prior to that I was working on another collection of poems based on the area in which I live, entitled "Sulphur Mountain" (nothing to do with "Lucifer's Lexicon"). "Agapanthus" is one. I hope to finish it before the jungle book.
Mr. P., Peter,
MODESTY, n. An excruciating form of ‘plastic’ surgery which one nonetheless undergoes whenever one feels the need for a quick efface lift. Few, however, put themselves under the knife anymore due to its unfortunate tendency to leave lasting scares. What few licensed practitioners of the art remain are believed to reside in the beautiful state of Virtue, closed to the public these many years.
Les,
The problem is that more often than not I am unable to connect. I get the following message:
The database connection failed. Please check your database configuration in include/db/config.php. If the configuration is okay, check if the database server is running.
I don't have a problem with any other web site. Where are the Stephen Fryers of the world when you need them?
Writing projects. I am moving to Belize via Canada (land of Bruce Fader) about November. I have in mind to write a jungle book. I think you can see the possibilities. Apart from a villanelle I haven't written anything for almost a year, what with making preparations. Prior to that I was working on another collection of poems based on the area in which I live, entitled "Sulphur Mountain" (nothing to do with "Lucifer's Lexicon"). "Agapanthus" is one. I hope to finish it before the jungle book.
Mr. P., Peter,
MODESTY, n. An excruciating form of ‘plastic’ surgery which one nonetheless undergoes whenever one feels the need for a quick efface lift. Few, however, put themselves under the knife anymore due to its unfortunate tendency to leave lasting scares. What few licensed practitioners of the art remain are believed to reside in the beautiful state of Virtue, closed to the public these many years.
David,
My ex-spouse went to Belize a few years ago to help build an art center for a local community. From her response to the place, I think you can look forward to a friendly, fulfilling time. Have fun,
Peter
David, best of luck on your new project. Do come back to the mule upon your return to the U.S., or better yet, post some samples of your latest work here while enjoying your leisure time.
Les