To endure your temper,
And fall prey to it’s cruelty.
Don’t punish me with an easy life,
Exile me with the restless ones.
I must be amongst those who weep, or bellow in joy,
And those who burn brightly, or not at all.
The brothers, the sisters,
That find such mothers and fathers,
Who shelter those who they recognise as restless ones.
The perverse, the pained or the punctured,
The circus clowns, the leading ladies,
Those who can’t go on, but go on.
Leave me in their company,
And our time will be glorious,
Though before long it will come for us,
Because my dear, it always comes for us,
For if it did not,
Would we be such restless ones?
- I was working on this poem on Friday night, and on Saturday after I had finished it, I heard the sad news that Daul Kim had passed away. I'd read her blog I Like To Fork Myself * several months ago, but I hadn't checked back for a while, until I heard about her death . Now it was just coincidence, if such thing exists, that I was working on a piece about restless souls, and people who struggle to find peace in this world, but it seemed fitting to dedicate this to her. Daul was open and at times painfully honest about her problems, and her constant search for meaning, but she was also humorous, generous and unassuming. A little something she said about the transient nature of life..."beautiful to be remembered and to capture and to display and to be forgotten to be remembered and then forgotten then remembered…"
* I think Blogger might have blocked the original version of her blog now, but it is mirrored here.
©2009 Copyright Daniel J. Fiasco
Posts
The second link now yields a “server error.” But thanks for the poem, and the thoughts that go with it.
ReplyDeleteThanks William, somebody must have requested they take all the blog archive down.
ReplyDeleteIncidentally I was reading your series of "guitar notes" the other day and they compelled me to run and get my guitar and listen to it with a more sensitive ear! Found them to be very inspirational indeed.
For anybody else who is interested :
Guitar Notes
Hey, thanks. I hadn’t read those in awhile. The guitar is sitting about ten or twelve feet behind me, leaning against my grandmother’s sewing machine. “Not now,” it’ thinking, “not again.” Poor thing.
ReplyDelete