I don't know what you're driving now,
but once,
I did--
and saw it everywhere.
I don't know who you're loving now,
but once,
it was me--
and that was everything.
Sometimes, still,
I see your skin, your hair, your walk,
but now
it's a blank-faced stranger.
I don't remember your body's scent
but once,
I did--
and it blessed me, in that hour only lent.
________
keeping it simple, sweetheart, for this.
Had to take a few gulps and try not to cry ~~~ especially the last stanza.
ReplyDelete*passes the tissues* Dun worry, they're the lotion kind and won't give you a Rudolph nose. ;-)
Deletekiller last line for a ...ummm .... saccharine verse? (ducking for the bombs you're throwing, lady of the manor, don't kill me just yet) - actually, it's powerfully worded, but what's with the pink? mix me a cocktail instead, and we can sit and I'll listen before deciding on whether we need to call for a doctoress -
ReplyDeletesometimes the KISS (not the band, unless you feel like it, sistah, but the old school adage is just fine - )
As the noted philosophers Humble Pie once observed, I. don't. need. No doc-tor. But...call the doctoress anyway. ;-) I can cough and look faint as needed.
DeleteI love the pink.
ReplyDeleteThe poem is fantastic, romantic, and honoring of the seasons, the reality that not all things last, but that doesn't negate what was.
I love the double meaning in "lent," taking it to a religious level of love and touch. It has me imagining the encounters happening during a time when all things delicious are supposed to be given up.
I like your interpretation. That's spot on.
DeleteThat last stanza...oh girl. I too noted the use of lent. The time after carnival and indulging only to give it up for forty days and forty nights. A love so intense one has to wade out to the desert to purify oneself. Being blessed by a love...intense and holy. Love the pink. Like the most intense inside part.
ReplyDeleteZactly, fren. Busted on the details--thanks for getting those things.
DeleteYour poem choked me up, Shay.
ReplyDeleteYou and Helen both. I always take that as a great compliment. Thank you, Kim.
DeleteDon't need no doctor when Mary Oliver could get us through the night. Once.
ReplyDeleteHey brother. Before I retired, there was a man at my post office, another carrier, who used to serenade us with "30 Days In The Hole" except he changed it to "30 Years In The Hole." I always thought it was pretty apt and pretty funny. I worked 31--I guess my behavior wasn't good?!?
DeleteRecently, I had a conversation with someone who asked if I don’t get angry at the fact that I’ve had to give up so much, if I don’t resent those who still have what once was mine. I told her no. I don’t love the not having part, but the memories I still retain if what once was will alway be mine. No one can take that away.
ReplyDeleteYour poem reminded me of that conversation, of the power of memory—even the ones that hurt, perhaps especially the ones that hurt.
There is a Gershwin standard that goes, "You Can't Take That Away From Me." It's a favorite of mine. I bet you like it, too, if you're familiar with it.
DeleteI'm not familiar with it. And when I searched, I found different versions. Do you have a favorite?
DeleteTry this one:
Deletehttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uHFt8VAn9qw
;-)
You were correct, I really like it!
DeleteI find the way you used this repetition, the varying length of the length building up to that final stanza...
ReplyDeleteI find the day when you lose someone scent is when they are truly gone...
The double meaning of lent also makes me see the emptiness afterwards...
I wish the poem "kyssande wind" by Hjalmar Gullberg could be well translated to English... but I have not found anything done... your poem leaves me with a similar ache.
Bjorn, if you do find a good translation, please do send it my way. Thanks.
DeleteThis is so personal and so universal. Wow...
ReplyDeleteWhen it comes to poetry, I believe in Love and Death, the big two, to write about. Everybody experiences both, and so as you say, the result is both personal and universal.
Delete"...in that hour, only lent....." The heartbreak of love, as only you can write it.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Sherry!
DeleteEven the next day, all we have left is the memory of what has been.. I guess the trick is to find a way to keep making the memories as quickly as present turns to past.
ReplyDeleteThat gets exhausting too, I think. Like Bob Dylan, I'm sick of love.
DeleteYeah, I really get this too, and feel it. The car, most people don't drive that one anymore now. The scent I am sure I would recognize now, like a stab.
ReplyDeleteI can tell that you do, Marian. As the song says, welcome to the club. ;-)
ReplyDeleteOh, there is so much life in making memories, but remembering can be agony.
ReplyDeleteThat special scent, and voice become more and more distant. I love the repetition in this, and the mention of lent.
ReplyDelete…"and that was the entire point, the beholding." - Louise Gluck
ReplyDeletelove and death. sums it up, yeah ~
ReplyDeleteThat may be the simplest I have read in your hallowed halls and still, it kills and takes my breath.
ReplyDelete