Friday, September 17, 2010

Distant Memory

chose the theme


Memory is not a picture; it's a series of disconnected blots.
Only sometimes do we wander in a field of forget-me-nots.
We remember this one and that one, on one day or the next.
We remember in isolation, not as smoothly-flowing text.
Most of all we remember emotion; we look at a photograph,
And we remember sadness, though the image may show a laugh.
And, as the years go past us, we remember self-delusion;
We recall how our own gaiety was sometimes an illusion.
A love-affair indulged in, we recall with some distaste;
We thought it was 'the real thing' then, now 'the true thing' must be faced;
We 'fell in love' merely because a new man had been found.
Looking back, he was nothing much; just the only man around.
Friends, relations, colleagues have grown dust upon the shelf.
Whom do I really remember?


 Paul Klee


I know very little of modern art;
I'd better state that at the start.
But here's a work by the great Paul Klee
That well and truly satisfies me.
The colours merge and mystify,
The shapes and placings please my eye.
It's called 'Magic Garden', well so be it.
If he says it's a garden I can see it.
If he had called it 'Secret Spell'
I could have recognised that as well.
The merging colours really count,
But the title? Not a large amount.
Abstract art has a life of its own,
The name of it need not be known.
I taught little children in my day;
They daubed in a really childlike way,
Yet, sometimes, serendipity
Would present a 'work of art' to me.
The colours chosen, juxtaposed,
The splashes, blots, the white exposed
Would form a painting warm and vital.
What need was there to find a title?


Kerry O'Connor said...

I like your take on the Memory prompt. You present an interesting viewpoint and what you say about remembrances is so true.

Diane T said...

So much wisdom in your poem. So true, if one looks at a photograph at a later time one may 'see' a feeling that the picture doesn't seem to show. Sometimes life IS not what it seems. Well written poem.

Eileen T O'Neill ..... said...

I love your poem, since it ticks all the boxes for all that we try to remember from our journey through life.
I particularly like the line,'friends, relations and colleagues have grown dust upon the shelf'.
Such very true words!!!
Best wishes,

Lynette Killam said...

You've captured the fragmented quality of memory so well, Brenda. I particularly like the comments on self-delusion, something I was all too good at when younger. In the midst of everything, we do have to remember ourselves.

Wonderful poem...


Sherry Blue Sky said...

I really related to this poem, especially the love affair that turned out to be not so special after all, hee hee! Very well expressed!

Dasuntoucha said...

Looking back, he was nothing much; just the only man around.
Friends, relations, colleagues have grown dust upon the shelf.
Whom do I really remember?
Myself. this journey you took us on.

Paul Andrew Russell said...

A wonderful 'memory' poem, Brenda. It says so much. Lovely writing.

rashmi said...

As always very nice poem.Yes what really matter is the self..all else as you said
"Friends, relations, colleagues have grown dust upon the shelf."

True..when we recall earlier days nothing matters much..
Enjoyed reading..gave too many thoughts..the way you make us think by drawing a realistic picture..grat dear.