Do you ever get those evenings that never quite fall into an activity, or a rhythm?
The hours drift by, unfulfilled. The rain falls in rich curtains of fertility. Everything is bathing, the trees, shrubs, flowers, birds, earthworms. But your mind strays, unfocussed.
I wouldn't call it boredom, but it sort of is.
When nothing you can think of is enough to rouse you from your couch of comfort. The hours aren't weaving or unweaving anything. You're just wasting them.
You feel spent, uninspired, worked over, at odds, suspended.
I don't feel like drawing
or walking the dog.
I don't feel like being alive
or dead.
Or creating art out of my life.
I don't feel like being alone,
or with anyone.
The lush Spring rain
simply falls
without metaphor.
You want to eat something
to nourish and fulfill
but all the multi-grain breads and cereals, the fruits, oranges, apples, strawberries, grapes, and almonds and raisons and cheeses, the fresh vegetables, carrots, green beans, cauliflower, broccoli, and herbal tea of cranberries and vanilla that sits steaming in your hand
doesn't satisfy.
And you ask questions of the moist fresh air all evening
about what was, is, or will be
asking about intention
knowing that's it,
the intent to be
is everything.
And you write it,
this mundane
enfolded mystery.
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
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Sometimes they make me feel restless and guilty; sometimes I sink into them without anything productive resulting from the torpor; sometimes I hope that it's a fertile lying-fallow, a reteat for self-renewal. This one has clearly been that for you.
ReplyDeleteI agree with Richard. Thank you for this. I particularly relate to the part about the food! :-)
ReplyDeleteThis reminds me that nothing, needs necessarily to be considered wasted or lost or unimportant. It's all about perception and, as you say, intent.
Oh wow, i absolutely love this brenda. absolutely love it. this matches how i feel so perfectly. if it's ok with you, i want to copy paste this into a Word document and print and hang in my office. i just love this, and it reflects actually how i felt today.
ReplyDeletethe poetry is wonderful, the rythm has a soothing nature to it, a rolling theme that goes with the days hours rolling by. really enjoyed this. thank you
Richard used the word "fallow" — and that's exactly how I think of these times: as fallow fields... waiting, digesting, quietly rejuvenating for the flurry of activity that will come some time.
ReplyDeleteUnless, of course, I'm tired and spacing out — then I just need to go to bed!
it sounds like depression to me - pure and simple depression which lifts, of course, but while its around changes everything into nothing. not sadness - just nothing - robbing life of the vibrant color, stealing passion, erasing need and want.
ReplyDeleteparadox of life...so beautifully written...
ReplyDeletei felt concerned that my comment might be misunderstood since no one knows me or where my comment might come from, so i came back to add that my intention was to share an observation only and certainly not harshly. my life work has been in medical social work. this observation comes from years of hearing comments from those who mentioned feeling dissociated from feelings, of having "colors" lose vibrancy or change to black and white, of losing that which had been pleasurable - even if momentarily. when i read these words, i was taken to that place. i hope this is more clear. :)
ReplyDeleteSky, I apologize, yesterday was one of those days that started at 6am and went to 11pm - thank you for your concern, and perhaps there is an element of depression in this poem/my life but I wasn't writing about depression itself, more creative fallowness, the lull, the time of waiting between pieces -poems, paintings. I do think the artist lives on the edge of the chasm where they can see both the abyss and heaven, nirvana, the clear light, bliss. We are emotionally complex, though, and you hone in with your clear seeing eye and compassion and I appreciate that and am giving what you've said some thought. More later...
ReplyDeleteRichard, You've expressed it right on. I don't think there's ever been a question of not returning renewed. But I wonder at the torpor of the state itself, perhaps like being in a motionless, windless ocean zone.
ReplyDeleteMary, The meditation on intent opened everything so marvelously. Sometimes we need to slow down to find where we are.
~Artist, Of course you may, I'm honoured. 'Down time' can be a rich state in itself; there is profundity in what might appear banal - in a way it's what's most free because there are no expectations.
MB, fallow, yes, and waiting, and sometimes just needing rest & sleep. Why is it so hard to give ourselves this? What if we said to ourselves, ok, tonight I'm going to do absolutely nothing would it stave off the frozen hours that come unexpectedly?
luxlucisvita, oh, yes, paradoxes of life!
Sky, depression can certainly rob life of its vibrancy, and I knew this poem was travelling a border...
Brenda, come on over and join the self-portrait exercise. Turning those states of mind into a real image of self is very salutary and enlightening.
ReplyDeleteI love this with everything I have. The other spelling of "raisins" as "raisons," making in French and meaning "reason," perhaps unintended but probably totally what you meant to do. I know this feeling, especially on Fridays, and I sing your song. And need some fresh broccoli :-)
ReplyDeleteI agree with Mary's observation that nothing is wasted, even though it might feel that way. The holding patterns can be difficult, but I often find that so much occurs in layers beneath the surface, in places I can't perceive.
ReplyDelete