Here is where lonely begins
hand on brass knob
one last glance back
to an already gone room.
Hands on a steering wheel
out of the driveway
and a pause to shift
all but the eyes.
Hoard a reason to wave
though thinking still,
half hoping to find
a glimpse of a face.
Hold the silence in radio days
and wine winded nights
vigilant front windows
glance down the street.
Home remembers a name
patient for the prodigal
and a well-lit corner
cries out a soft come in.
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Comments: 61
First off, an incredibly evocative title. We know we are going to feel the beingness getting sucked out of time, the elements of the feelings that connect us to the world disappear in the moment we scan those three lower case words.
The first stanza gives us the onset of departure, a sort of primal abandonment where the present vacates itself into the hollowness of memories, and nothing feels substantial about the anchors and supports of our erstwhile existence.
The second and third stanzas take us through the mechanics of leavetaking--¨hands on a steering wheel¨--¨a pause to shift all but the eyes.¨
Faith, you capture beautifully the ¨no turning back¨feeling. The I-once-was-this set of engrams.
¨Wine-winded nights¨--such an eerie phrase, that elicits our own archive of driving away from ourselves, our former neighborhoods, who we used to be. This stanza personifies the feeling of being looked at on the other side of the glass, by those who were once friends and acquaintances or just ¨those we knew¨ keenly.
The final stanza kicks in with mysterious language that throbs with new beginnings.
¨Home remembers a name--¨what a perfect phrase to capture the sudden anamnesis of what matters to us in life, who we really care for, what love is and how feelings keep us in the world. ¨Patient for the prodigal¨: great allusion to Jesus´ story, after which we immediately flash on ¨home is where the heart is¨contrasted with the title of the great Thomas Wolfe novel, ¨You Can´t Go Home Again.¨
The next line negates the latter association, because there is a welcome there waiting for this disembodied speaker who is loneliness itself, there will come a time when we can step back through that door, I remember the ending of the great hallucinatory classic film JACOB´S LADDER where Jacob finds his way to the light where love is expectant as our all the departed ones when we stumble into a near death experience and realize that it was all a dream of being separated all along, the hide and seek of our own sense of who we are, and now we can hear ¨a soft come in¨, and now we are rejoined with intimacy and hope.
Faith, this poem bowled me over. It is lyrical, haunting, authentic and highly original.
It´s one of the best things I´ve read on Gather in awhile. I have always been impressed by the breadth of your experience, but here you have sought out the softest of hush, the most caring of ¨it´s all right.¨
Magnificent, truly magnificent work that you rarely see on a blog, but rather in a high quality literary quarterly.
Major kudos.
Very well done!
Lora and Virginia, I appreciate your reading this.
one last glance back
to an already gone room.
Maybe you've noticed I'm not around much these days. However, I am very happy that I read this golden poem. This is certainly one, in my humble opinion, to put in the "publishable" stack. It is a piece that speaks to everyone. It is "first-class."
i will feature your poem on my groups....now if i can remember how to do that!
sayyy....did someone say it is your birthday?
Robb, I have noticed your absence and hope it is for the good. I am flattered that you feel this is good enough for publishing. And you too, Synch. Thanks for the feature!
(birthday? what birthday??? !!!)
This is REMARKABLE...
"Hold the silence in radio days
and wine winded nights
vigilant front windows
glance down the street."
says so much in a VERY few lines..
Lovely.
It is a grand slam of a poem where
Home and Loneliness and Longing are
Extracted and refined!
And I'm so very sorry for coming late to this - I don't know how I missed it. I can only plead exhaustion and a whirlwind of things that demanded my attention and had me buckling at the knees. I hope you'll forgive me.
Some months ago I wrote written a poem tinged with your where lonely begins, entitled Soul Mates on the Shore which I will be publishing this coming Friday. Given that you were feeling a tad whimsical and lonely, I will dedicate it to you.
Smile!
Magi, I look forward to your poem with a big smile!
Only I was going to use more words.
Bart, you said it better!
10 / 10....
pretty cool.
the thing about Faith is
she writes of herself
but speaks for us all..............
I read this before it logged in all the comments I now see above me but did not dare leave a comment before I could find the balance to read it again.
Your soft, subdued poem packed quite an unexpected emotional impact. Well-done, Faith!
Lost Soul, my classical music knowledge is somewhat limited, but I will certainly look for that Bach piece. That you compared my poem to it is immensely flattering. Thank you.
sierra, thank you also for seconding Lost Soul's comparison.
Terry, haven't we? A hard journey.
Mo, you are just too sweet, thank you so much.
Chris, thank you for your comment. I deeply appreciate it, as this is one of my favorites.
Kathryn, glad to know you made it back for another read.
very well selected statements of the heart
Faith, this is one of those "twin" poems, where I know exactly the pain, sorrow, emptiness you write so incredibly beautifully about. Thank you for a lovely, lovely poem.
I can't stop reading this piece. And "haunting" is the right word here to describe its tenor. Breathtaking best describes my reaction each time I read it.
The confluence of emotions reminds me of rivers that join forces at a devastatingly powerful point, yet through the turbulence, an even more mighty river is formed. Nature is such a powerful thing; unstoppable really; as is the human spirit that lives inside people such as you. You are beautiful, and I don't necessarily mean "pretty", darlin'. There's beauty to be found in power too.
Just wonderful work!
Katrina, I knew you would feel that.
David, what a doll you are, thanks, kid.
Mike/Mook, thank you, thank you!
Sheila, I'm so pleased you've taken the time to stop by here.
The title and the poem cry out for music. Your longing lament would be a fine song.
Good for you, writing this poem everyone identifies with.
I'm very, very late to this, but so glad I found it. This is an utterly amazing piece of writing that nobody could come close to topping, yet touches most of our souls. Whomever said "Gold" first, yes.. Yes!
Marilyn