Saturday, November 28, 2015

"dismal swamp"

Like some unpitted and polished ball bearing, there are words in my mind that hold an almost-treasured place. These are words that, in their time, are perfect and whole and fill the bill, though I am not entirely sure what the bill is or will be. They are brilliant friends whose light source is elusive.

"Shit" is a pretty good example.

And, this morning, floating burnished in my head are the name and words, "Dismal Swamp." How I wish I had contrived so perfect a perfection. I realize I cannot "have" it in any literal sense. It is like looking into the eye of a hawk -- present, fierce, and the more challenging because I know it doesn't give a shit about "challenges." But it is perfect somehow ... and what are perfections for if not an improvement that is utterly impossible?

Dismal swamp. Its literal size and location and being are just the tip of the iceberg. What goes unseen is the redolence and suggestions in my mind. What a fine word "dismal" is. What a tall tale "swamp" can tell.

Part of what beckons to me is that there is no beckoning. It is some unpitted and polished ball bearing that seems to await its time: And how could it possibly be "waiting?"

Wish I'd said that ... but grateful to have made its acquaintance: Dismal swamp.

1 comment:

  1. What else would a poet such as yourself admire if not words?