I paid a long overdue visit to Archie's Archives today. One of his posts sent me surfing for Ron McKuen Poems. This is one I particularly like. Blogspot is no friend to the poetry format, so the full effect of the poem is lost from lack of proper indentation. The words are still brilliant.
ANOTHER ONE IN A ROW
Even wrinkled water stretches out
along its roadway to the sea.
A blemish under sunlight fades,
or darkens,
changes anyway as all things change
the more they meet the Elements.
Only the nightmare, one in a row,
is constant under Nature's gaze.
Lean or weighted down with weight,
everybody I see now is eloquent
In true proportion.
Dreams have taught me
to turn my back on nothing
that might be something.
Something being that other one
one always needs to compliment
the given hour.
Who knows how many dreams
die out of season
reaching for some added darkness
or twisting upward where the sunlight
sits on haunches in the tops of trees.
There are no ordinary dreams.
Every nightmare is extraordinary
and compared to bodies, every body,
the dream is truly plain.
The nightmare is nothing.
I am, of course, excepting my own body
which needs a little/lot of work
No mirror told me that.
Not seeing my reflection in an other body
was looking glass enough.
While looking down
above a dream some times
I do see my old self rolling in another's arms
And oh the sight is dazzling.
---Rod McKuen 1998
ANOTHER ONE IN A ROW
Even wrinkled water stretches out
along its roadway to the sea.
A blemish under sunlight fades,
or darkens,
changes anyway as all things change
the more they meet the Elements.
Only the nightmare, one in a row,
is constant under Nature's gaze.
Lean or weighted down with weight,
everybody I see now is eloquent
In true proportion.
Dreams have taught me
to turn my back on nothing
that might be something.
Something being that other one
one always needs to compliment
the given hour.
Who knows how many dreams
die out of season
reaching for some added darkness
or twisting upward where the sunlight
sits on haunches in the tops of trees.
There are no ordinary dreams.
Every nightmare is extraordinary
and compared to bodies, every body,
the dream is truly plain.
The nightmare is nothing.
I am, of course, excepting my own body
which needs a little/lot of work
No mirror told me that.
Not seeing my reflection in an other body
was looking glass enough.
While looking down
above a dream some times
I do see my old self rolling in another's arms
And oh the sight is dazzling.
---Rod McKuen 1998
2 comments:
Wow. This IS a really, really good poem. Thanks for sharing it. I'm glad i chose to read some blogs on my lunch break instead of joining everyone else,today.
I've read it several times now. I'm not very good at knowing why I like a poem. This one seems positive to me...like things are okay.
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