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I was afraid of the rain, afraid of what
I’d find in the infinity of drops, at the edge
of language.
mediocrity is not an option instead
we flail, looking for red sea glass looking for songs made of rain looking for children airships compasslessness
Time lurches forward, jerky -
yesterday I was 17, today 28
and all the beach glass is tiny blues
that’s still rare they say
I’ve never found a blue one.
But losing love hurts and so
does rain where it doesn’t belong
We end up in parking lots watching
sunsets on purple water
here it is, love
a lost bird a lost feather
words strung together
a girl without a home but with wings enough to fly.
I’d find in the infinity of drops, at the edge
of language.
mediocrity is not an option instead
we flail, looking for red sea glass looking for songs made of rain looking for children airships compasslessness
Time lurches forward, jerky -
yesterday I was 17, today 28
and all the beach glass is tiny blues
that’s still rare they say
I’ve never found a blue one.
But losing love hurts and so
does rain where it doesn’t belong
We end up in parking lots watching
sunsets on purple water
here it is, love
a lost bird a lost feather
words strung together
a girl without a home but with wings enough to fly.
A friend asked me these questions:
ReplyDelete1. In what sense to you is rain "at the edge of language"? Is it the same way any sense experience can occur without language?
2. How does rain hurt where it doesn't belong?
My replies:
Oh - to take apart a poem! Actually feedback is good, makes me see if what I meant to elicit is actually being elicited. It isn't necessarily rain that's at the edge of language; rather, the infinity of drops is at (or brings me to) to the edge of language - the way any sort of infinity does. When you have an experience like rain drops falling that never seems to end- I guess you can say a sense experience - you're at the edge of something, beyond what you can communicate to anyone else. Even now I'm struggling with the words. How can I put into words for you what I "sense" as the infinity of drops, of rain, of anything? How can I get that sense across to you? It is an impossibility; it's not the words that do it. The words only point to the experience, and it's up to the reader's own particular mind to pick up on the "pointing" --- I can only hope that for them it somehow points in the general direction of what I'm sensing. This is the problem with all language, with any communication. Even if I say to you "this is rain", while it is raining- how do you know what the rain is? is it the water, the cold, the shape of it, the particular way it falls? what makes it rain and not snow, or sleet, or the sprinkle of a garden hose, or yesterday's rain drops falling from the trees on a now sunny day? It brings me back to the concept of "joint attention", in a way, but even that theory is limiting...
As for your second question - I hesitate in answering questions like these because I want the words to point people in their own direction sometimes. What does it mean for YOU, etc. What it means for me is not so relevant (unless the particular word combination is distracting from the poem itself, in which case it needs to be removed or changed).