Twilight Reverie Poem by Daniel Brick
Twilight Reverie
I was lingering on my balcony
in the twilight of this late June
Monday. My building blocked
the sight of sunset, except for
a narrow panel of golden light
vanishing into a smear of color.
Is darkness so imminent? was
my first thought of the night.
A sense of loss drifted through me.
I pressed against the railing, and
leaned forward toward the trees,
alone on my balcony, contented
with my solitude, an empty apartment
behind me, its objects dimming
as shadows increased, both objects
and shadows vying for my attention.
Between indoor and outdoor, there is
an exchange of some obscure influence.
The living room is attached, practically
rooted to carpets, furniture, memories
of visitors, perhaps some even before my
residence, human things clinging together.
Papers covered with poetic scribbles
come to rest in corners or along the walls.
Dust mingled with the poetic words,
dusty words making something poignantly human.
From the balcony I watch with slow eyes,
intent on lives other than mine,
the mad dash of squirrels across the lawn.
The stately movement of birds who suddenly
launch into flight and perch on tree branches
is a wonder to me. Do they realize my yard
is their green sanctuary? I trace the flight
of small finches in a wide loop across the yard
and hope they never abandon this oval of safety.
I am almost finished with this experience.
What shall I call it? A meditation minus closure,
a daydream of my rapport with the animals,
a monologue with no trace of vanity...
Or perhaps I will give it no name, I will
not mar it my human wit. Let it be just
a memory lodged in my brain of a twilight
in which I lived along with things inanimate
and creatures animate a common life.
I think as we journey through life our youthful skipping steps slow to a mature walk where we drink in and experience just pure being as part and parcel of our environment. I wonder if this is a moment where we also imprint a part of ourselves that remains long after we have passed.
Oh, Simone, I hope you are right that we leave traces of ourselves in places we held dear, that gave us a joy which still lingers. And your reference to PURE BEING is exactly the right term to describe this poem. It's not about things and actions, but about relationships between yourself and the places you live, even haunt.
hey, daniel! i related to and enjoyed this reverie. at the end it seemed so right to me that you would give it no name. names, words, are the symbols of the real, a substitute for them. of course it's our business as poets to help summon the realities- which you did for me in this piece. glen
I'm glad this poem worked for you, Glen. I think of it as a dangerous poem to write because I had a need to write but no particular inspiration. I stayed close to the real world around me and let those images carry the poem. You are so right in emphasizing IT'S OUR BUSINESS AS POETS TO HELP SUMMON THE REALITIES. Amen to that.
The objects around us are like our friends or neighbours. We interact with them, whether they are animate or inanimate.The chairs we sit or the bed we use, we may call it' my chair, 'or 'my bed'- - We may talk silently to a tree near the balcony, adore the beauty of a flower or enjoy the games of squirrels on the tree - - We are not alone when there are so my activities around us.- - - -A wonderful poem, thanks for sharing. To quote a few lines- - - Between indoor and outdoor, there is an exchange of some obscure influence. The living room is attached, practically rooted to carpets, furniture, memories of visitors, perhaps some even before my residence, human things clinging together. Papers covered with poetic scribbles come to rest in corners or along the walls. Dust mingled with the poetic words, dusty words making something poignantly human.
I like the you summarize the poem THE OBJECTS AROUND US ARE LIKE FRIENDS OR NEIGHBORS. That's something I learned while writing the poem. And now I realize it's very important appreciate them. Writing poetry is a self-education isn; t it.
You give us a taste of the real...life is there as the day is about to end. How small things in life can inspire deep thoughts, this poem is a testimony. The calm, the serenity of the twilight is felt by the reader who is unconsciously taken by the magic of your words. Thanks for sharing this lovely experience of your life. A huge 10.
I'm glad this poem spoke to you Nosheen. I wrote the whole poem on my balcony on a perfect summer day. The experience was half reverie and half sheer work. But now when I read it, it's pure reverie because the work is done, and I can sit back and let the thoughts cushion me. As they did for you too! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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9/20/2024 3:16:26 PM # 1.0.0.1119
The progression of this poem to its ending was marvelous and oh how I enjoyed turning the back on the hotel room and its thoughts and turning toward the unfolding of the night little by little becoming part of the greatest story on earth- - life! Simple everyday life. The squirrels on their nut-gathering rounds, the birds winging their way from tree to tree until they row themselves home. Ah, take a deep breath and inhale Life. Simple complex peaceful urgent life. And then you give us- - - - Let it be just a memory lodged in my brain of a twilight in which I lived along with things inanimate and creatures animate a common life. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Yes, you put your readers incoherent feelings into words- -you give us- - -Memory, one of the best gifts a moment in nature can gift us. Excellent write