Gold-plated whale of a dunce
after Murakami
That was when I saw him
crashed on the shore
there was no sunlight, only rain
the empty ice bucket was a pail
seashells, memory and dreams
overflowing its rim
later, to warm up
he gave me tea
in a green thermos
whisked until foamy
like Proust’s madeleine
the sweet toasted bitterness
brings it on
that place, that beach
where I first saw
nothing ever truly changes
light works its way
slowly through becoming
sound waves
only in a novel could the world shift
so suddenly, so rationally
every age is this age another age
feeling that touch
fingers against the brain
coming in fast, too fast to stop it
washing over and taking with it
another sandcastle.
So neat so clear reflection, a meditation on writing a writer's writer - another sandcastle yet an exquisite sandcastle.
ReplyDeleteI must read more Murakami.
So neat so clear reflection, a meditation on writing a writer's writer - another sandcastle yet an exquisite sandcastle.
ReplyDeleteI must read more Murakami.
but I want to know which beach?
ReplyDeleteWaouh! this sixth stanza made my day! Just a comment: I wished I had this rythm
ReplyDeleteonly in a novel could the world shift so
suddenly, so rationally
every age is this age another
age feeling that touch
But i know almost nothing about Murakami and I might miss something ...