THE POETRY OF ABANDANMENT: La Nave Va …
I’m thrilled. The search is on. First the Tate Modern: a cappuccino, a blueberry muffin overlooking the Thames to fire me up, inspire lists of the places we might meet. After a quick visit to one of the exhibitions I’ll walk to St. Paul’s, mix with the tourists. Read a poem by John Donne on my iPhone.
The Romp an opportunity to explore London, first the places I know, then further afield …
At 12 noon I’ll hop a bus to Kings College, take my lunch in one of the restaurants near the Courtauld Institute. Is it her territory? It’s certainly mine. London, host to A Romp, A Frolic, A Chase. It’s what cities are about, immersion with the masses, shoulder to shoulder with diversity. I’ll leisurely look for signs of the past superimposed: Claudia a remnant …?
Did you know: in the early morning hours ghosts walk the High Streets, the transition more difficult for some! Infinity not for all, the finite hard to shake . I hope to rouse the laggers from their haunts of slumber, shake them up, discover their secrets. The past still lurks, catch it if you can ..Ghosts are about preservation. Claudia could be nearby …
Claudia, I quote the immortal words of the John Donne:
The Prohibition
Take heed of loving mee,
At least remember, I forbade it thee;
Not that I shall repair my’unthrifty wast
Of Breath and Blood, upon thy sighes, and teares,
By being to thee then what to me thou wast;
But, so great Joy, our life at once outwears,
Then, least thy love, by my death, frustrate bee,
If thou love mee, take heed of loving mee.
I try to avoid base thoughts: temptations of the flesh, like sugar, cloud my judgement, limit my ability to experience the parameters of possibility. I’m a chronicler still enchanted with style, bpowwerinhg trinkets, bobbles and bangles from fellow-travellers: the glitter from a good soul, the weight of the sinner part of the story. Is Claudia at a place in-between I can’t describe yet …
Something will happen, inevitability abounds: a sudden revival offered at the frayed end of a improbable event. A Chase, a challenge less than a commitment. Still irrational desire colours the expectations. The attraction of turmoil irresistible … the destructive element a catalyst lubricating the molecules of destiny.
Where is The Other now? Sipping wine in front of the fire, watching tv like a madonna behind extinguished candles absorbing the opioid that helps her grasp and categorise, her statue dark, smoke streaked. We reluctantly agreed we are less than we should be … Our destiny dependant. A new construct in the works? Will I know her, she me? Then?
Will I uncover the dream … behind the fact.
In Claudia I desire the fiction more than the woman, struggle to give it words. Consciousness when subservient to rigorous grammar groans, the subject lacks latitude, luster.
How does Claudia imagine me: an interloper disrupting her private plot? Was it a story she was writing for herself: the train drama co-opted, offered to an audience she didn’t choose?
Let her speak-up, as the challenger she rules, her choices critical. I’m open to revisions …
The Other gathers, arranges, a keen eye for final drafts, the tweaks and turns of a good yarn … our rewards measured, we ride the parallel rails, the summit always just out of reach …