April 4: Nostalgia

April 5, 2013 § Leave a comment

I have always been prone to melancholy. This I have actually always enjoyed. It’s a productive emotion, which can result in  good poetry. This recent feeling I have had lately, of utter fear of the world, is not at all productive, and is in fact so draining that I may have to snap out of it, get over it, and start living again. Or, as Mrs. Dalloway said, “She always thought that it was dangerous to live, even for a day. ” (I paraphrase).

So for the sake of good old melancholy feeling, tonight I offer an old melancholy poem reminiscing of childhood.

The croquet game

Cornell’s boxes are reliquaries of days when imagination reigned. They are inviting us, of course, to start our childhood revelries all over again.— Charles Simic.

The landscape of The Childhood pressed upon outer layers of the mind
(a cloth laid over the brain, to write on or to burn letters in)
like a nose of the saddened child watching someone leave,
unexpectedly, maybe for the first time,
maybe never having known what it is to be left behind
like pressed flowers; the aroma of death
of a childhood hobby taken up for one afternoon only
to be abandoned for ant farms to be abandoned for journals and poems
nevertheless a permanent faint urge to press purple flowers
between pages of a children’s encyclopedia
to find years later like the sweetest surprise
sweeter than gifts wrapped in shining paper
sometimes to be sought in dark corners of rooms
touched by spider webs, shining bright silver
The landscape of The Childhood:
swamp air – unsure – wavering – withering – levitating
misty hedges in the distance barely visible
English dream landscapes
afternoon tea, pink china, delicate silk napkins
(Chinese, collected meticulously over the years
now stored in The Mother’s attic, in a shirt box
surely to induce tears
surely)
mildewy looming rain
well watered soft grass porous
hedgehog holes filled with treasures
glittery jewelry not worth a dime
old toys lost in tall grass
Never to be found Never to be let go of
sometimes inciting more sadness than tragedies of friends

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