Perhaps

I like it.! Thank you.

interesting poem Max. conjures up many various visuals.

Another amazing work from Max Babi's pen, this one utilizing solitary images joined by a wavering melodious voice on the wind to evoke in the reader's mind the differences between these two lovers: the classic not read by her but sampled by the indifferent breeze; her mysterious meditative pose of the synaesthetic Vipassana mind--"straining her ears with unfocused eyes"; his fretting and tactile sensing of the song he cannot possibly here because of distance; his omniscient awareness of the blitheness with which his gift is unheeded.
Max, you have managed to create what Rupert Sheldrake called "a field of morphogenetic resonance" within a few haunting lines of a love poem. This sort of mesmerizing mastery is what every poet hopes to attain as the real gift from the all embracing consciousness of the One we all share, and you have it here in full abundance.
I embrace this masterpiece enactment of a ghostly silent performance you've placed before us through powerful ostensive use of language, feeling and hearing and sensing that humming song you had your second person point of view trill, now vibrating at a certain pitch of melancholic perfection within my inner heart (qutb).
Wassalam.

"Far away, I fret
-feeling a melody like ghostly footfalls
creeping up my torso with a loving aim."

This line reminds me of my recently departed kitty. Sometimes at night I feel her presence. She used to sit on my chest in the middle of the night sometimes and give me little kitty kisses with her nose on my chin.

Great poem!

This poem is so magnificent, Max! I somehow see Andrew Wyeth paintings in my mind while I read this...the ones from the Helga series. The pervading tension magnifies the intensity of the current of love that wafts through it and the profound reverberations of sadness and separation and desperate search for connective veins. This is so emotionally expansive in such few words, I am in complee awe. Thank you.

I especially like the personification of "boorish wind."

Ah the memories conjured up by those melodies. Great poem here, Max, and I like the ending "creeping up my torse with a loving aim." So sweet.

enchanting, melodic, wonderful

Thanks a lot guys, each one of you....
Laura, I have spent decades with painters and sculptors -though science and technology profession has robbed me of intimacy with the performing arts of late.
It would be wonderful to see Andrew Wyeth's paintings -the all pervasive internet
should help me, I guess. Do suggest some sources. Your comments have opened up new vistas in my thinking.... very exciting possibilities seem to be jelling into shape.
Cheerz!

Dear John,
My day seems incomplete unless I hear from you.
My prayers for vast improvement in your health continue.
My efforts to open up new windows in my life, like Sufism, also gain strenth.
My admiration for the vast canvas of your unique perspective grows rapidly.
My breathing slows down when I read your comments, depths and heights infuse.
My inherent belief in miracles happening to wonderful folks like you gets stronger.
My poetry flows out of me helplessly, like a flash of leaky angst.
My restlessness loses steam when I ponder new horizons.
My respect for life grows in stature day by day.
My salutes to the grandmaster up above-
My gratitude to Him-
My admiration-
!
Cheerz!

Beautiful,

sad and etherial...

It reaches across the distances

perhaps even beyond the veil of death...

Thank you,

Lovely Max. Ethereal beauty, haunting melody. Moya

you've caught that delicate heart aching relationship between two beings that are strongly connected within love as distance comes between them. aching. it aches me.

about the Helga series:
those works have a very private intimacy between painter and subject, that remains permanent in the works. i can see why people link those works with this (and other) poems of yours.

i believe the paintings (and drawings) took place over a couple of years (i could be miss-remembering that). i suspect if you google Wyeth Helga Paintings - in their image section, you'll get a sampling. it's a well documented series.

some time ago i was very fortunate to be at the right place at the right time to see a large exhibition of works from this series. the images haunt the mind in a way that aches to return over and over again to the moments they explore - an afternoon. a walk. a room. a doorway. the country side. - each place private - where only the two exist - painter and painted. they are painterly and somber yet rich in color - they capture the individual and specific figure with an intimate sensuality and very little adornment - adornment that accentuates the privacy and intimacy in much the same way we ache to explore that relationship in your poem - the examining that occurs in that "throbbing silence" that "prevails." and many hunger for...

beautiful Max.....you have brought back long forgotten memories...thank you.... :-)

Hi Wrick !

Your explanation was wonderful.
I am googling the websites to visualize precisely what Lucie and you had in mind.
I think I can understand what you mean... very sensitive of you, both, indeed.

Cheerz!

A beautiful poem.

You have such potent words....

Hey MJ,

I do not use 'potent' words. These very same words may be used by a grocer, a cabbie, a president of General Motors or a war-monger. It's the ability to evoke deeper feelings with everyday words, which requires a special skill.

What you meant was I have such powerful feelings.... perhaps! The fact that I can cause a reverberation, a resonance in you, owes half the credit to you too. Without a sensitive reader, the best of poetry remains useless.

Cheerz!