Poetry for me is a way of living, it comes out of nowhere and I have to write it down. How I write, what I write, I decide. I am not asking you to be judgemental. I am gifted with the ability to see beyond the obvious.
Title: mainline to the heart and other poems Author: Clive Matson ISBN: 9781587901393 Publisher: Regent Press/2009 Pages: 85
I had not heard of Clive Matson before this. As most of you know, I like to explore varied genres of poetry. Jacqueline Lasahn, Publicist at cosmicdance was kind enough to send mainline to the heart and other poems to me, when I requested for it. Clive Matson wrote this book of poetry in 1966, that period in which sex, drugs and religion were burning issues. His poetry too pertains to that with an exploding intensity. With raw honesty, he has the knack to touch our inner core.
On the surface, his poetry might depict celebrating sex and drugs but those also show that true joy has nothing to do with the baser instincts. The poems dwell on the wounded, bruised state of mind, hitting hard at times but do not crush our spirits. The poetry may border on pornography but are handled with such sensitivity which is very rare to find.
....She's is not good enough for me, oh no! Besides her breasts are too small. I give woman a disease. A woman in love with me: ......................................Trouble. .............................Man's conceit
~~~Page 19, Talk about love .......................................Even the peyote/LSD taste of ecstasy and peace with the world soured to nausea by a growling stomach and my aching groin
~~~Page 25, The Jungle
................Opium today. ..................................My Brain is loaded. .....................Put down the spike, wipe a red dribble oozing out the hole in my arm. The whole arm lit bright by the sun. ......................................................Blink-Blink
~~~Page 27, Psalm
I tried to turning on love when its blush had faded Pressed her hard for salvation and she burst in my hand exploding bile that brought me down to Earth.
~~~Page 73, Love Soured
The poems stay within the mind for a long time after reading those. The emotions ooze from each page. A book worth reading but not for those who like everything nicely tied up.
she looked into the mirror, dabbed a bit of perfume touched up her lips, checked on her studs
perfectly coiffured with not a single hair out of place, yet again she smoothened her dress. satisfied with herself she was ready to face the world, as of now. she was so afraid of aging
Ian Parks' poetry touches many realms. The concrete as well the abstract. In the same poem you can find many layers. On a first read, most of his poems can be taken as love poems but not so. Those also make us glimpse nature, the seasonal changes. His love poems are in no way mushy but for me those are steeped in spirituality. I also see endless possibilities.He is one earnest poet.His writing reactivates the mind in multi-directions.
Quoting from his poems:
.......I'd left the wardrobe open: in a queue behind the door the stiffened shapes of our former lives were waiting for the thaw......
~~~A Dream of Snow, page 11
Leaving wasn't easy nor is this: the climb through altered landscapes, different trees to find each other as we really are.
~~~The Ridge, page 19
Afloat on a sea of my own dreams, I was content to let the pages fall while Sonny Boy was blowing sweet and low. I woke to a sunburst splintering the trees: a rush of light.
~~~Hammock, page 17
Along with sense of loss, there is hope, beauty in that, regret and yet no regret. At places I found acceptance of that loss, after love was gone. Yet when it was there, nothing compared with that emotion.
For poetry lovers, readers as well as writers, Ian Parks' poetry is worth checking out. I am very glad I requested this particular book from all that she was offering to give away.
if there was no change what would we aspire for if there was joy, only joy would we know it, hold it?
in the impermanence consciousness thrives and grows into it we all come, equally out of it we have to escape
in the motion of life permanent can't come into being if it did, you and I would be merely & meaninglessly existing
~~~~~~~~~~~
It is more of a note to myself. On my birthday today, I needed to remind myself that the changes I am trying to making in my life, are for the better. I don't want to exist in same old rut. Not anymore. Gifting myself a poem, is a good way to start it. I know it is not one of my best. But so what? Even Keats produced trash at times!
his gnarled hands clutched the crutches yet he fell on that crumbling stone wall crumpling on to the brown earth it felt so natural, laying there almost soothing his frayed nerves for so long those have been spookily ubiquitous looking up at the dark soulless night no more did he feel like a burden to his family
that word you lost I found it under a rock hiding with horror- out of sheer terror it had become a recluse
that word you lost wished to eat itself swallowing itself whole as with a bitter pill- now losing its temper that word you lost I cajoled it out tied it in my hanky to give it back to you as it wanted to say sorry
that word you lost a mere word with so much power- works both ways to hurt as well as mend
~~~~~~~~
I had posted the raw version on facebook:
that word you lost i found it under a rock it was hiding out of shame although it came from you out of its own volition
i cajoled it outside shook it, cleaned it tied it in my hanky to give it back to you as it wanted to say sorry
a mere word with so much power instilled in it- works both ways to hurt as well as mend
Lately I have not kept in touch with my blogger friends. There are various reasons for that. Feb and March are very busy for us teachers when academic session comes to an end. We are busy conducting those, along with evaluation work and also tabulation of results. All this takes a toll on us.
There is also the fact that I am kind of taking stock of my life and find I have been laid back too long. I need to change all that. I have short listed various options and would be getting around those in the next few months. I don't mean slow changes but drastic ones.
One thing that I won't be changing is my writing. I need to write poetry just as I need to breathe. I also need to be connected to all of you. Without your love and support, I wouldn't have progressed this far in my writing. I will come visit you, as and when time allows.
coiled strands fall flailingly on the cold floor sticking and coagulating staring at it with revulsion I curse myself at my stupidity
feeling like a clod I am left watching unappetisingly congealed cold noodles falling on the ground all this, as I had chopped my sticks & thrown my fork on the road
you chose your path I too have to go my way my outwardly open palms will not close and let me sway listen up because I got only this much to say
I am moving ahead sidestepping obstacles in my way so-called promises of forever wouldn't let me sway listen up because I got few more words to say my silences ought to tellyou to keep out of my way now my closed fists are making sure, I don't sway listen up carefully because now I got nothing else to say
oozing out, out of pores unevenly ragged spots, spot raw patches of skin holed in, into the bones held by the thin veneer
blood spurts in, inside you plastering the walls of stomach, intestines coil in embracing itself, stuck together food within is gloriously naked
what pleasure are you getting relishing in your yucky muck, muck that is sickeningly sticky save that drug for something else, something which needs to be fed
"diseased, decayed decades that have taken over our will, no less"
******
My Beat poetry has not come up the way I wanted it to. It had a mind of its own and ended this way.
