Monday, 12 July 2010

Reflections of possibility


There's a piece on the chair
A piece in the hall
A nice piece of me
Stuck to the wall
Divide and conquer
The jigsaw in you
Has left me asunder
All over the room


There's a piece by the clock

Clinging awkwardly to time
There's a piece at the piano
Clinging stubbornly to rhyme
There's a fun piece of me 
In a crack in the floor
An innocent piece
Who walked out the door


Call me a doctor
Or a structural engineer
Draft me a past and a future
That consert to adhere

Give me a pill that makes cohesion
A pharmalogical thing
Bring me the tape and the twine
The blueprint design
To fit the scraps and the threads
To the feet and the legs

There's a piece that was pretty
For a moment or two
But my mouth and my lips
Are somehow askew
A piece of a hero is
Behind the TV
The piece with the glue
Is looking for pieces of me


There's a piece in Detroit
A piece in LA
New York is a critic
She's funny that way
There's a piece prone to panic
A big piece is blue
All the pieces agree
The best piece went with you


In fragments and tatters, scattered
All over the road
Each piece has the other
But no pieces is a whole
Little maps in their pockets,
Reflections of possibility
The pieces pick themselves up
Dust themselves off
And start all over

Patricia Barber: Pieces 


  1. by invitation only, i come and marvel.

  2. Mâinile mele sunt îndragostite,
    vai, gura mea iubeste,
    si iata, m-am trezit
    ca lucrurile sunt atât de aproape de mine,
    încât abia pot merge printre ele
    fara sa ma ranesc.

  3. Cris,
    Imagine there are people made of the pieces the others left behind. or forgot on a bench at the station. or got rid of as worn out. or discarded as wicked, too solid for feelings or shared already. Imagine nothing of these people is their own, they are so hopelessly anybody that no mirror can reflect them back, no shadow can stalk them, no breeze can carry their scent...Imagine these people and their surrender.Imagine me. Imagine...

  4. intotdeauna am iubit albul pentru pentru posibilitatile infinite si pentru ca pot folosi acest cuvant cu adevarat;si intotdeauna am urmat drumul trasat de bratari,de membre statice sau in miscare,pentru ca mi-au placut posibilitatile diafane;si intotdeauna am sperat ca cineva sa imi fotografieze credintele si un voal s-au asezat ele,intr-o corida fara de oponent.

  5. Roxana,
    come and see and conquer by giving meaning to this world.

  6. Nichita, cel atat de sentimental si drag mie. ;-)
    Uite, un alt poem al lui, potrivit mereu.


    Când ne-am zarit, aerul dintre noi
    si-a aruncat dintr-o data
    imaginea copacilor, indiferenti si goi,
    pe care-o lasa sa-l strabata.

    Oh, ne-am zvarlit, strigandu-ne pe nume,
    unul spre celalalt, si-atat de iute,
    ca timpul se turti-ntre piepturile noastre,
    si ora, lovita, se sparse-n minute.

    As fi vrut sã te pastrez în brate
    asa cum tin trupul copilariei, intrecut,
    cu mortile-i nerepetate.
    Si sã te-mbratisez cu coastele-as fi vrut.

  7. Anonymous,
    nobody is that anonymous, nobody is so hopelessly lonely or unnoticed by the others. They are our mirrors even though we do not clearly see our reflection in them.
    I try to imagine the world that you so powerfully depict but my mind tells me that we count more than we will ever know.

  8. draga mea Cerasela,

    cum se iteste din tine poezia, cu toata forta si candoarea albului. Mi-ar placea sa iti pot darui tot albul din lume si toate posiblitatile lui diafane, si bratari demne de brate din care cald curge poezia, asa, ca ale tale.

  9. why so many pieces
    lying in the street
    why so many broken bits
    where paths and gutters meet
    why so many pieces
    falling out of cars
    too many pieces
    in the back rooms of bars
    pieces blowing on a bitter wind
    pieces left out with the trash
    pieces lying in the street
    where two cars just crashed
    pieces all around us
    upstairs and down
    pieces falling from the sky
    littering the ground
    so who's to pick the pieces up
    make us whole again
    or will they all just wash away
    the next time it rains ?


    Forgive me for waxing poetic over this at such a late date, but poem and pictures are very moving here.


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Starea ta naturala (perfecţiunea) nu este nici entuziasmul, nici descurajarea. Starea ta naturală este liniştea. * Iubirea musei nu e pasională, e totală. Musa cunoaşte ceva asemănător adoraţiei, dar mai adânc, mai liniştit. Vă scriu din altă lume... * (Gellu Naum: Calea Şearpelui)

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