I needed some time to go through your poem. It is as if we were in front of
our self-mirror, and trying to decide why and what, but here the King of
Shadows solves the problem, am I right?
The Muse, to quote your introduction, does she really want it to be or black
or white? I think she wants it all but colorful in the meantime, and with
the utmost presence & intelligence & capacity, there is no compromise with
her. She, if she is female (to answer Dave's question on Apollo, no, it is a
muse also for me in which I identify), is beyond and wants you to go through
it all. I am wondering Robin, am I wandering on my own or does this stick to
what you are saying?
Take care, Anny
From: "Robin Hamilton"
> This isn't quite about HER, but it is (I think) related.
>
> Not that I haven't had my own problems with Muse-figures, the oddest and
> least-accessible being a three-month old female foetus (celebrated in a
> short set of poems called "The Foetus Strikes Back") but this is about
being
> hag-ridden (?) by the Boy in Buskins.
>
> The "David" in the title isn't, in case it's not apparent, dave
bircumshaw,
> but David (D.M.) Black.
>
> Who was, when i wrote the poem years ago, about one of the few people i
> thought would get the point. Helps (I find) to think of who you might be
> writing a poem for.
>
> Evening, all.
>
> Robin
>
> ***********
>
> TO DAVID, REMEMBERING HOW IT WAS IN THAT TIME
>
>
> The dream becomes formal, David, when the drama is
> played out. I turn my mind to the Bacchae: dare I
> risk another confrontation with its author?
>
> Neutrality is difficult, as the Greeks knew; to be
> merely human, proffer allegiance to no god.
> leaves man naked in a world they rule.
>
> But to commit myself to him! pitiless double-aspected
> child, frowning surveyor of ruins, patron
> of panic and catastrophe - that's hard.
>
> Better perhaps the smiling musician, author of
> cool alexandrines, who pays his tax on time;
> or even the blind boy who is at least sincere,
>
> Since sincerity would come so easy, simply shut the eye
> to each difficult and disturbing circumstance,
> plunge straight into the maelstrom.
>
> But to hold a balance while we're spun like a top
> by him! when the nerves fret and jerk in expectation
> of the next psychic inundation, wonder if, this time,
>
> I will still outrun his pack of virgin whores,
> reach a mountain sanctuary beyond their grasp
> or sink bleeding and castrate beneath their nails and teeth.
>
> But it's past time, there's no longer a choice, he doesn't
> ask anymore, or wait for his name to be spoken -
> the King of Shadows saunters through my mind.
>
> *************
>
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "david.bircumshaw" <[log in to unmask]>
> To: <[log in to unmask]>
> Sent: Sunday, December 08, 2002 3:20 AM
> Subject: Re: My contribution
>
>
> > Arni wrote:
> >
> >
> > >Oh, Dave, I'm a lost soul / cause! A lost which- and/or whatever. I
fell
> > for
> > HER decdes ago and that's too big a snippet from my life already to let
> her
> > go that easily. She and I are not off the hook yet, just catching our
> > breath(s) in the struggle/wrestle, and we'll keep racking our collective
> > acre of love-hate & poetry in that eternal hope of growing THE poem.<
> >
> >
> > Alas, too, Arni, so did I. Really we should be sitting in some tatty bar
> in
> > Leicester, ruefully exchanging feelings and hopes over bad pints, as
> > headcases wander in and out, and the smoke thickens, and a sense of
> > film-noir overwhelms us.
> >
> > I'd love to know who the hell she actually is though, it's a bewildering
> > feeling to be in love when you don't know who the object is. I suspect
> women
> > get it worse, as Apollo has always struck me as a really nasty piece of
> > work.
> >
> > Best
> >
> > Dave
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > David Bircumshaw
> >
> > Leicester, England
> >
> > Home Page
> >
> > A Chide's Alphabet
> >
> > Painting Without Numbers
> >
> > http://homepage.ntlworld.com/david.bircumshaw/index.htm
>
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