Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Anne

In the soft oblivion of sleep,
I pulled back the layers today
And found us dancing
Back in Marquette,
In our old living room, with
The lights turned off
And Annie Lennox playing.
Don't let it bring you down, she said,
And as I smelled your hair,
And your perfume on my skin
I resolved that I could never,
For there was no need to.
The snowstorms roared outside
And you were warm.

10 Comments:

Blogger Peacechick Mary said...

Beautiful.

7:58 PM  
Blogger Seven of Six said...

Jeez Milo, that was wonderful.

Keep the chin up, and head down.

My best! SOS

10:21 PM  
Blogger iamcoyote said...

Just lovely, Milo, keep those pictures in your mind!

1:39 AM  
Blogger dorsano said...

This is very nice. A delight to read on a number of levels.

You get the feeling of being inside cocoon or of being embowered in a private retreat.

The dream is constructed line by line, layer by layer, from "dancing" to Annie Lennox with each line adding one more detail to help bring the dream into focus - and you get to experience in an almost physical way what it must feel like to "pull back the layers"

This doesn't come off at all as if it was forced so it's hard to say if it was intentional or just a natural result of the way the poem is lined.

At the end, the poem returns to the soft oblivion of its beginning - sealing the cocoon.

Frost said that Like a piece of ice on a hot stove a poem must ride on its own melting. This poem seems to both melt and reconstitute itself at the same time - which is perhaps what Frost really meant with that metaphor.

=====

Thanks for taking the time to leave a thank you note, Milo. I'm grateful

for all you do.

And now, SPC Freeman, I must spend sometime writing myself - else I'll have nothing to show for the day but a long winded comment that struggles to ride on it's own melting. :)

Take care

4:01 AM  
Blogger teh l4m3 said...

Well, even tho' you're six years younger than I, Annie Lennox is nevertheless evocative of something that today's 60 year-olds and 10 year-olds will never grasp -- she's ours: haunting, strange, androgynous, cold yet sympathetic; anhedonic yet cracklingly sexual. Lovely imagery, very melancholy. Good luck out there.

4:41 AM  
Anonymous Bob said...

This is very nice, this is when you need to leave the surreal behind. Your writing continues rich and evocative.

2:57 PM  
Anonymous soul pumpkin said...

...beautiful images, Milo...a first-class wordsmith, you are...

7:10 PM  
Blogger John Q. Public esq. said...

well put...

10:06 PM  
Anonymous blue girl said...

Very pretty, Milo.

10:59 PM  
Blogger toadman said...

Simply wonderful.

6:25 PM  

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