I’ve known, I’ve seen, I’ve heard, I’ve felt
I’ve known, I’ve seen, I’ve heard, I’ve felt:
I know how the day will end
And night begin, and how the stars
Peep out in turn, ‘fore clouds cover them.
How words follow words, and words, and words
Breath comes over breath, then passes on
But words never never, never end;
Misplacing dreams and imaginings.
Wrinkles, so soft, and cracking bones,
Loosening tongues, the trembling grows;
Why O why O why must we go?
and without dying, lie in graves so cold…
Without sleeping must close our eyes,
Without laughing emit sounds wild, vile;
Without knowing, know it all
Without showing, without a sound.
It dabs at every corner; seeks to dominate,
and meets no resistance, and indeed, no hate,
No looking back aids, though I remember once;
When doors were not open, I admired the woodwork
When buds seemed more lovely than roses full-blown;
When there was no human, just existence alone;
Lean back, head, or bow down and muse…
OK. I don’t completely understand, but I got a very ‘mystic’ feel from it. Beautiful, absolutely brilliant and extremely clever choice of words. ‘wild, vile’ was awesome.
“How words follow words, and words, and words
Breath comes over breath, then passes on
But words never never, never end;”
AND
“Wrinkles, so soft, and cracking bones,
Loosening tongues, the trembling grows;”
ARE BOTH LOVELY!
Is it about dying? And seeing the light, or taking a step back and looking at life in a different light? These are the messages I got from it. Would love to know what it is really about. : )
RIL Patrons and Moderators and Silent Readers and Frequent Critics, Where are all of you?! It is a disgrace that this piece was up for 3 whole days and no one commented on it. Such a lull is not good for business. Wake up, see the light, take a shower, smell the rain, watch the rainbow, READ and COMMENT. PLEASE.
You’re right Noor, we’re all mute these days. I think it’s just the time of the year, some busy with end of semester, some with weddings =)
This poem is an Aamna Tariq hallmark, the mystic quality is something I always associate with your poems. And like Noor I wud really wanna know what it’s about too, what I got out of it was someone ‘superior’ talking, someone who knows it all and is lying down infront of us what life is like. Do let us know how far our musings are right.
seems gorgeous masha’Allah tho lik the rest i dint get it :$
Thank you for these kind words…I’ll endeavor to explain, but just remember not even the writer knows what’s being said most of the time.
Sidra’s got the gist of it–I was feeling very old and jaded at the time, felt like I knew everything that everything I didn’t know was not worth knowing.
Outside of myself, we had just finished discussing The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock in poetry class…the poem is a reflection of just one of the elements in that disturbing work of art.
Basically, that’s it…that I understand how everything is, and all I can do, at the end of the day, is to muse about it…either way, my head can’t hold itself up.
The moment I read your first two verses, I KNEW you liked Eliot. The Love Song is my favourite poem of all time. I know it by heart.
Your poem is a blend of Eliot and mysticism. The eastern touch is very evident. Graves, lying withoiut dying, old age, are all elements that cry out a weary knowledge to me. I think Noor might be in critical danger here of being dethroned from her Best Poetess spot.
Nitpicks: Some vagueness in the last para took away from the poem as a whole. It is Eliot no doubt who’s daring to disturb the Universe by peeping out from behind ur werds, but mayhap a little more focus? zada maza ata…
9/10…oh by the way I don’t rem if I’ve rated any of ur werks before, but despite a general RIL disapproval, I rate werks.
A very belated but very grateful thank you…you flatter me by taking Eliot’s name, though I never aspired to reach that level…and I’m overwhelmed by the ratings…now, how to get to 10/10?