Dearest Sun

I do not seem to you
Do I?
Too small to love.
(Imagine that you or your
deep flung Arab kin could love!)

I feel you fulcruming
The orbs
In our black bag
(Ask your gravity question
please, the one with no answer)

2 responses to this post.

  1. One thing I don’t like about WordPress is that posts carry the stigma Uncategorised. Being a human being and not a few lines of machine language I can overrule this petty electronic default; I can – and must – categorise Dearest Sun as poetry. A judgment I often find difficult to make with my own stuff but not with that of others.

    A benefit from living when we do (and there must be some counterbalance to the Trump co-existence) is that all of us who are sentient know just a bit more about physics than we did twenty years ago. Physics is in the air and since it strives (perhaps vainly) to explain the material world it is a subject fit for poems. Had you written this poem twenty, or more, years ago would you have included those final two lines? Well, perhaps; you are an educated sort of guy. But would I have responded as gladly as I do now? We’ll never know and that really is the point of those lines; poetry can tackle unanswered – ever unanswerable – questions.

    Is it too fanciful to say you have contained a universe in ten lines? Again, perhaps. But I refuse to withdraw the suggestion; sturdily, since your poem is now my poem and I can let it affect me. After all I share the black bag with you.

    Mind you, there’s an extra pleasure for me. Dearest Sun was unexpected; it arrived out of left field, gaining in immediacy. What else am I supposed to say? You have written a poem, it does things that poetry is supposed to do, it does these things concisely and rhythmically, it set off responses and resonances in my mind.

    Oh, and one other thing I’ve just noticed. The lines, even unread, have the duplicated shape of beauty. A bonus I have never come close to.

    Go away and do some more. You know you can. I know too.

    Meanwhile here’s my own version of those bits of stiff paper which people put into envelopes and despatch at this time of year.

    SEASON’S GRATITUDE (Because the familiar phrases don’t work for me). For encouragement, for dialogue, for interpreting the country I know but slightly, for liking technology, for being (sometimes) maddeningly indirect and thus causing me to bend my mind to profitable endeavour, for being frank, for being sarky. That’s you isn’t it?


  2. By sarky do you mean simply “sarcastic” or has the word morphed in the UK to be synonymous with the US “snarky”(sharply critical; cutting; snide,cranky, irritable)? If the latter, yes, this certainly is me. Why does such a great gleaming comment rise beneath the morsel I dropped here? Because my bread is fresh? Because the fish is hungry? Love to you Robbie, and thank you for all your sparks.


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