jeudi 21 mai 2009

Fatigue and Sickness

Ooooh, so tired.
No matter how much sleep
I get, it's always the
same bald sense of fatigue.

The cat won't wake up

under the umbrella of curtain.

She lies all day, barely turning,
then with hardly a cat stretch
arm, she gracefully
from sill to side table
floor to mosey over to
kibble dish, then back to
perch to sun herself in the
graying light of a rainy
spring morning.

I'm hardened into this couch
like someone broke by madness.

I've broken the clock and
bank of all the minutes I've

wasted lying here in this
room with a tv drone and a

time bomb to help me

remember my pills.

Not even wanting to hear
your foot
fall on the stair,
for you to come home from
the piano lessons
you give to
children and
fascinating men and women,
to attend to
me with food
and drink and a
little bit of
talk before
you must take
your daily nap.

I'd rather be alone like

this princess kitty who
bristles at my hand, who

jerks awake with peeping
and stiffened back,
I look at her and say,
"Sorry, darling, I was
feeling a little guilty."

(Perhaps how you feel
when you must attend to
your own needs.)

Then I lay back down,
assume the position, and

wistfully, irritably, uncomfortably

fall into the arms of Morphée.

5 commentaires:

Pris a dit…

Ahhh, so true!

Stirling Davenport a dit…

I understand that tiredness. I have often envied cats - those adored and indolent creatures who can leap to a high bureau at a moment's notice. We humans are in the gravity of bondage. Sleep is another country ... what do you think cats dream of?

Brenda a dit…

"I'm hardened into this couch
like someone broke by madness."

It's fearful to read, I have to admit.

Reminds me of the women in your postcard-sized black and white watercolour paintings. They are beautiful, sensual, surrounded by beauty, nature, homes, fabrics, but sadness in their eyes, perhaps a foreshadowing of the pain you have experienced since the fibromyalgia developed.

It's good to write of our daily reality, though. Important to document our lives. Wallace Stephens says poetry is always based in the real. And I, too, come back to this in my life - what we really are feeling, thinking, what our perceptions are unclouded by whatever superficialities convention might constrain us with.

I, for instance, am still in rebellion against the Dickinson lyric poem. Not because I don't love her work - I do. But because that's not natural to my psyche, my rhythms, which are composed of more complex image structures that interweave. That's why I felt I had to make the effort to read them out loud, because there is a rhythm that those trained in the simple lyrical Modernist aesthetic for poetry might miss.

I read Plath here, too. And I also was hugely influenced by her, and yet fearful of what she drove herself to do.

In my world, then, it's best to keep the vivid rich madness just at the point of breaking us, where it's most dangerous.

Freely exploring where angels fear to tread.

This poem was difficult for me Laura, and it's taken me a few days to come over to read it.

The softness of the cat's feline body moving through it was wonderful, and, yes, sensual.

Thank you for your deep honesty.

Anonyme a dit…

Laura. What can I say of the courage that you face each day. Your lovely kitty so beautiful. I am sorry for your pain but glad for your writings ... all of your artistry. Such a treasure your are. Love to you my friend ... love.

Brenda a dit…

Have you seen this book:

Not that it's necessarily going to change anything, but nice to know books like this are available. And the poses are modeled by yoga teacher Deidre Carrigan who has fibromyalgia.