There was a time before cellphones
When I dreamt of emptying
My pockets, throwing my wallet
Into the river, hoping
The splash would sound
A new birth, a new beginning.
And I could walk off
Into the sunset and wander
An itinerant do-gooder, or
so I imagined; a knight
Errant, Kwai Chang Caine.
What I did not want
Was for anybody
To know my past,
To know my misdeeds,
To know my name
To know...me.
Perhaps, I imagined,
It was not my wallet but myself
I should throw into that river, never
To rise again, washed away by
The currents, cracked open
Upon the rocks and the
Detritus of the riverbed, eventually
To wash up along the bank,
Naked and bruised and breathless.
Lifeless. Yes that would be
A fitting end;
Or so I dreamt.
Why did I dream
Of self-effacement?
Self destruction? Why
Does the shadow linger, even faintly
After so many years? Why?
Too many questions
I could not answer;
Too many feelings
I could not feel.
What if I had?
Had not? Said? Done?
Feared? Dared? Felt?
Would she then, perhaps have?
Have not? I still cannot say.
I only know now that "what if?"
Is not a question that has ever
Served me well.
— Zachary
When I dreamt of emptying
My pockets, throwing my wallet
Into the river, hoping
The splash would sound
A new birth, a new beginning.
And I could walk off
Into the sunset and wander
An itinerant do-gooder, or
so I imagined; a knight
Errant, Kwai Chang Caine.
What I did not want
Was for anybody
To know my past,
To know my misdeeds,
To know my name
To know...me.
Perhaps, I imagined,
It was not my wallet but myself
I should throw into that river, never
To rise again, washed away by
The currents, cracked open
Upon the rocks and the
Detritus of the riverbed, eventually
To wash up along the bank,
Naked and bruised and breathless.
Lifeless. Yes that would be
A fitting end;
Or so I dreamt.
Why did I dream
Of self-effacement?
Self destruction? Why
Does the shadow linger, even faintly
After so many years? Why?
Too many questions
I could not answer;
Too many feelings
I could not feel.
What if I had?
Had not? Said? Done?
Feared? Dared? Felt?
Would she then, perhaps have?
Have not? I still cannot say.
I only know now that "what if?"
Is not a question that has ever
Served me well.
— Zachary
This poem reached something deep inside me. I really like this:
ReplyDeleteI only know now that "what if?"
Is not a question that has ever
Served me well.
This is "Macoff" speaking: What I wrote under joystjohn's poem today applies to yours as well (even though it's for a different prompt). Here's part of what I wrote to her-- "The topic of this, and even some of the images, are (right now) SO parallel (in my mind, anyway) to a chapter in a book I am reading now: "The Abyss" (by Marguerite Yourcenar). It's about a wandering philosopher during the time of the Reformation (a dangerous time for "heretical" thought). In this chapter he's applying himself to some mind experiments and winding up in similar "places" to your poem." Zachary, I would say that the character of "Zeno" in that book finds himself more than once with thoughts like yours in your poem, not really as a result of despair, but as a result of seeing too clearly the impermanence of it all and the relative lack of importance of the individual. Objectively speaking, none of us "means" very much except to ourselves. We can create "meaning" (as other philosophers have noted) but some of us have difficulty believing in our own creations, maybe because some of that "meaning" comes from systems of thought that we aren't completely on board with. Networks of relationships with other humans can hold us together sometimes, but not always.
ReplyDeleteI love this poem and live with these shadows. Beautifully expressed.
ReplyDelete