On pomegranates and other things
During a recent jaunt to Syria I was struck by the repeated use of one particular motif. It shimmered on finely woven cloths and loomed out of pagan stone carvings, the ever alluring pomegranate. Strange that this fruit which appears in almost every strain of our worlds ancient mythology (Persephone and Hades, 613 mitzvot, Bijapuraphalasakta) hasn't as yet had a full color, glossy laser printed coffee table book dedicated to it.
It does however get a mention in this odd poem that gives me a warm recollection of my homeland.
Many Colored Squares
Why decide in advance what to do. Eucalyptus trees their shiny
leaves and polished crows. The opera of. Hummingbirds. MOVE,
an optimum crow and spider sparkle newly. Joe walks but
seldom touches the ground. Pause. Hammer. Pause. Wind. Crows.
What's in the oven. All the ingredients: quit opening the door if you want Dinner to emerge in less than a geological epoch. Oh. Busy. Hmmm.
Sniff.
Of something. The first fruits of man's disobedience was a
pomegranate—
The invention of Winter and Ambition—the joyful desiring. Flat out.
KONK
Much better under lots of Monterey cypresses and immense
blue-gum and lemon-wood; trees in the distance in front of the
ocean. Letch.
The disobedient mind is the fruit of inactivity swaying upon
dishonest boughs. The butcher's thumb lies weighty on the
scales. Tumble.
Minor chords are not sad. The Pyramids are still a secret.
Erasmus Darwin: The Botanic Garden.
The explanation isn't the same as what happens. A recipe can
produce a particular result most of the time.
Carrie turned all the matches in the same direction. Love and
Honor conspire to discipline the Factory.
Come with me, Joe.
Now when Bill gets here we will leave. Quite seriously. Stop
tittering.
Cut straight down the center it means twice as much. Free at
last. Or not. Hand lotion soothes my mind. Correspondence.
Scales uncolored in themselves produce a rainbow. Mountain
seafoot absolutely white? Iron curl. Start over. Start all over
again. Your feet are dirty on the bottom. I won't say
"Immesnsely so."
Container for insensible fruit?
Posted in: poem, pomegranate on Tuesday, March 9, 2010 at at 11:23 AM
