One More Sonnet

Tag: reading

  • Social Offence

    Social Offence

    Never under-estimate self-interest:
    a motivating drive that self-rewards.
    Take note, observe the well-feathered nest,
    lined full of comforts; as pleasure affords.
    Don’t take for granted self-interest’s desire;
    don’t be gullible or slow to your feet;
    don’t be surprised by what Self will acquire;
    don’t be the lender who has no receipt.
    Take heed, be ready, keep track of the score.
    Self seeks advantage, full measures the gain.
    Take nothing for granted, rest not assure,
    Self seeks indulgence; treats else with disdain.
    . Indulgence of self at others’ expense.
    . A cruel investment … a social offence.

    © Tim Grace, 4 May 2013

    To the reader: Possession brings them pleasure and reassurance. Put crudely, their conniving motivation is greed. They are the players who want more than is their fare share; cunning manipulators that contrive a self-serving solution. The psychology of greed would find its origins in an unresolved, deep-seated, sense of lacking… ‘poor me’ seeking restitution; ‘poor me’ retrieving what I’m owed.

    To the poet: In the writing of a poem like this there has to be some emotional investment in its authorship. In its composition, it has to express annoyance and disappointment; some skin in the game. As I put pen to paper, I draw upon genuine feelings of frustration to validate my argument, to test its impact and authenticity. In its reading, I need to recognise those same unclaimed investments… the emotion must be raw and real.

    Social Offence
    Social Offence
    Picture Source:
    http://youtu.be/RZwmPBP2JHI
  • The Invisible Thread

    The Invisible Thread

    Spent last evening with invisible thread.
    Beneath a crocheted installation,
    a gossamer of words were spun and said.
    And so wove the night, an incantation
    of elevated thought, lifted to a lilt:
    hoisted on updrafts of spinnakered air.
    As carried by a cello, music spilt
    in generous play; danced without a care.
    Awash with mood, a manuscript of lines
    described the evening and caressed the night.
    Suspended hours – hung – as Art designs:
    poised in proportion for fanciful flight.
    . Spent last evening with invisible thread;
    . an entanglement of thoughts, it could be said.

    © Tim Grace, 1 May 2013

    To the reader: It was the gentle ambiance I remember. My home-town (Canberra) was celebrating its Centenary Year with all manner of auspicious events and occasions. One of which was the launch of a book: The Invisible Thread. An evening of ‘light’ entertainment: readings, interspersed with musical interludes. The invisible thread by nature has an unseen presence; nonetheless, it’s strong with connective pull by association.

    To the poet: In 2011, I wrote a sonnet (TG-S51) on the same theme. It’s interesting to compare the two. The first unravels the concept of ‘thread’ as an object; the second is much more metaphorical in tone. The second sonnet (TG-S220) plays with a thread’s connective symbolism. Both string together a short narrative. By way of footnote, a few edits (recently applied) gave this sonnet some extra tug.

    The Invisible Thread The Invisible Thread
    Picture Source:
    http://youtu.be/xXWbEWBmb3o
  • Unravelling Dimensions

    Unravelling Dimensions

    Sadly, the remains are but frailties:
    crumbling pillars and collapsing pylons;
    fragile columns; diminished faculties;
    cancerous concrete; corroded irons;
    frayed exposure; unravelling dimensions
    stripped of the scaffold that prevents collapse.
    Footings, as anchored to loose connections,
    probabilities reduced to perhaps.
    Platforms of understanding turned on edge:
    uncertainty – an awkward intrusion;
    short-term remedy – with no long-term pledge;
    a mortarless mix – dust and dillusion.
    . Crumbling columns collapse; ruins remain.
    . No rhyming couplet can loosen the strain.

    © Tim Grace, 26 April 2013

    To the reader: Dementia is a cruel affliction. The brain retires its function and loses its grip on day-to-day realities. Learnt routines are no longer spontaneous, simple sequences are interrupted and confusion increasingly describes the state of mind. As problems compound there’s a step-down effect; delusion and dismantling go hand-in-hand; finally, connections become tenuous and recognition becomes featureless.

    To the poet: My father is suffering the slow decline of dementia. In the beginning stages he would read my sonnets with editorial license, holding on to rules but glossing over nuance that could no longer catch his attention. Years on, the crafted string of words are meaningless. His highly analytical brain has lost its refined capacity to decode and decipher. And so, I write about him; the subject of my thoughts.

    Unravelling Dimensions
    Unravelling Dimensions
  • Enough of Words

    Enough of Words

    Not all that I write is to be read, you see.
    Lift your eyes from this page. Enough of words.
    They talk of freedom; speak of liberty.
    They are tethered, tarred and feathered. As birds,
    these words are clipped; pressed into pagination.
    Nothing more than flightless words, all a-flap
    with instinct; pinions of agitation.
    Unwitting conscripts with wings under wrap;
    press-ganged, enlisted into servitude,
    perched on parchment and anchored to the page;
    gripped too tight, stripped of height and altitude,
    flattened, compressed of colour, dressed in beige.
    . Heavied with the weight of purpose words die,
    . They can not sing, they can not dance; nor fly.

    © Tim Grace, 14 April 2013

    To the reader: The beautiful lyrics of John Lennon’s ‘Across The Universe’ relate to transcendental expression. The lyrics’ relationship to meaning is through soaring imagery not literal comprehension. The song has been crafted to fly. As an aerodynamic masterpiece the internal arrangements are light with adherence to rules that overcome gravity with blissful ease.

    To the poet: John Lennon’s recollection of writing ‘Across The Universe’ is instructive in understanding the uplifting power of poetry. The song began as a grounded response to being caged; captured and contained. Through a meditative process, it seems the lyrics became cathartic; they transcended his pent-up anger and delivered instead a peaceful state of mind.  Until his next rant, at least…

    Enough of Words Enough of Words
    Picture Source:
    1.

    2. http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Across_the_Universe#Composition

  • Victory Entombed

    Victory Entombed

    Once again, death rejoices a new grave,
    a soiled-over body, a buried soul;
    welcomes The Dead (Le Mort) to Hades’ cave;
    adds a fresh bag of bones to its countless toll.
    The spoils of victory entombed, encased
    in a casket of clay, in wet mud drenched,
    dispirited, disposed of, laid to waste,
    laid to rest in pieces; so long entrenched.
    ‘So Long’ farewelled, given back; dust to dust…
    But listen, through the dirge, the Angels sing.
    ‘Hark’ the Angels sing (as so the Angels must)
    “Where, Oh Death, is your victory, your sting?”
    . Through nothingness Death must surrender all,
    . beyond nothingness – Eternity’s call.

    © Tim Grace, 22 March 2013

    To the reader: He was 94 at death. An Uncle. An only son. An alcoholic… a troubled soul… a widower with children… a mechanic… a reformed alcoholic… a preacher; a man who found redemption. At life’s end, a man who had travelled a long and arduous journey of self-discovery. An adored father… a revered brother… a soul at rest; freed of Death’s sting, for “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die” (John 11: 25-26).

    To the poet: This sonnet is a layered interpretation of one man’s passage through, and beyond, the doors of death towards eternal peace. To begin with, words rattle with visual references, “but listen” (at line 10) calls upon a new register of interpretation: “Hark the Angels sing”. The dismissal of Death as an ending in itself (1 Corinthians 15:55) takes the sting out of life’s terminal destination. At Death we join the countless dead and become at last united with one collective spirit… so the story goes.

    Victory Entombed
    Victory Entombed
    Picture Source: http://youtu.be/EOga0vsuC6Q
  • Things of Interest

    Things of Interest

    Things, nameless remnants, objects in a drawer;
    trinkets that tumble out of time and place.
    Garage gadgets, artefacts of war;
    unidentified objects, out of space,
    out of reason, out of function and fit:
    oddities, obscurities, curios
    long since departed from inventor’s wit;
    having lost the memory of ‘who knows’.
    Relics in a box, contents in a trunk,
    a job-lot of stuff, a deceased estate
    to be sold-off cheap, to be bought as junk:
    what’s good for nothing makes a paper weight.
    . Nothing more nameless than a nameless thing.
    . All deserve a title – be it subject or king.

    © Tim Grace, 17 February 2013

    To the reader: I discovered an eccentric great uncle: the bird man. He was featured in a national display of urban characters known for having an inventive wit related to ‘things’. Uncle Henry Grace, was a bird-listener. He rode the country-side listening to warbles. Fittingly, he then invented his own form of warble-notation to capture distinctive ‘calls of the bush’. Then, he would create tin-whistles that imitated the various cheeps and chirps. A century later they are ‘things’ of interest; curios.

    To the poet: In its first-draft this sonnet began with: ‘Objectification, the stuff of things’… borrowed (I remember) from the more contentious notion of ‘Subjectification, the sport of kings’. Quite a nice beginning, but the rest of the sonnet was hopelessly lost in trivial detail. And so, the long task of re-writing began. A complete upheaval takes some effort. Holding on to the essence, discarding all else … that’s the thing.

    Things of Interest
    Things of Interest
    Picture Source:
    http://trove.nla.gov.au/work/36318721?q=henry+grace+whistles&l-availability=y&l-australian=y&c=picture&versionId=46737536