Writing as a faint form of memory
The grateful churchgoer knows:
the inside is larger than the outside.Familiar wrinkles bring back new fears.
Windfalls of the poisoned tree spoil.Pale claims drift and shiver,
create space for the hues of joy.
[German version “Das Schreiben als blasse Form der Erinnerung“]
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Oscar Wilde said that it is not art that is a reflection of life, but instead life is a reflection of art.
In a similar way I believe that memory is a faint reflection of writing.
I am looking forward to seeing you all the 24th of February.
I will pick you up at the airport
all the best
Harald
I agree with Oscar Wilde that life is a reflection of art, but art may be a reflection of something even greater. Something that the best artists are in touch with. — & we’re looking forward to seeing you!
Love the idea of hues of joy, especially in light of fear. This is one of those pieces I will come back to ponder from time to time.
Thank you, Tracey, lovely to welcome you back. Let us know what your pondering on your seat by the Atlantic, overlooking the many-colored sea, writing, waiting & watching, yields!
That’s odd…I left on comment here on this post a while back. Did it vaporize? Just checked the German version, in case I left the comment there, but no. In any case, I really like this little piece. Reading it, one experiences an almost physical sensation.
Hello Chris, where are my manners? I am almost 2 months late responding to your comment — I also don’t know where your comment went: perhaps it was a chimaera? Please don’t be put off and come back some other time… though I seem to have less and less nerve, patience, time or interest in blogging I’m afraid. Must be my advancing age…
About the piece: it really is little, no matter how many poems a prose writer writes, he still will not be a poet… however, thank you for noticing that physicality (if that’s the word) because the whole piece came out of a sensation rather than a thought so that’s quite accurate!