BTT# 8.2.5 Rain in the Door

Snapshot_008

Rain in the Door

·

Gentle remembrances
Wash the whited frame.
I know this place,
Where young lovers meet,
And old friends
Sit quietly outside the gate.
Somewhere behind me,
Perhaps on the mantle,
Or the wall,
A stone face keeps vigilance.
Meting out each embrace,
Striking in the rise and fall.

·

-Lona Gynt
May 1992

·
I did not have time to play dVerse Poetics last night.  It was a choice between hanging out in the kitchen with my teenage daughter to watch a very good movie that she had not seen before (Duplicity with Clive Owens and Julia Roberts), or slipping into the dVerse stream.  I chose to watch the movie, and there we were, the two of us laughing and winking as the plot cleverly unfolded, I had already seen it, but was enjoying watching my daughter smugly guess the next twist before it happened.  It was grand.  I thought it would be safe to hazard just a peep into the dVerse and saw that Jilly asked us to write about things that are unseen.  
Here is the link for Jilly’s prompt:
https://dversepoets.com/2018/08/07/unseen-things/
I was completely sucker punched by this beautiful prompt and I started fidgeting and moving around and suggesting to my daughter that it was a school night and we better turn off the movie, and we could finish later… but she would have none of that.  She had to follow it through to the end.  She had a point, tomorrow is only the second day of school after all, does anything substantive EVER happen on the second day of school?  I couldn’t just leave her to the movie because I wanted to see if she would gleefully guess the final plot twist. This gap between the seemingly limited stream of time and the need to fill it with seemingly unlimited competing imperatives was holding me in its unseen mischievous grasp.  That is when my past self revealed that it had written a poem in 1992 that fits the prompt perfectly.  Futhermore, I was also rescued by my future self who has written a poem for this prompt in coming weeks that may find its way into an Open Link Night.  Sometimes a prompt just can’t be denied, even if hindered by the slow erosions of time, desire, and memory.  My daughter, by the way, ended up being surprised and delighted by the ending of the film.  I present this old poem to dVerse on the unseen nexus between desire and time.  Thank you Jilly, you really got to me with this one… I never saw it coming.  Lona.Snapshot_001All rights reserved by Lona Gynt, August 2018.  Images were taken by me during a visit to Cica Ghost’s Seminal Second Life  Exhibit “Dreamers”

 

37 thoughts on “BTT# 8.2.5 Rain in the Door

  1. Gentle poem and story that follows. Blending time and memories with faces and stories – stunning and beautiful! Glad you stayed in that moment and glad your past and future selves are on such good terms as to collaborate in this moment!

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    1. Thanks Merril, so good to always hear from you. The three me’s and my daughter did have a nice evening. My wife was there too in a way since this poem was written way back in 1992 when I was watching her drive off to work and I didn’t really want to see her go just then, started to feel the clock ticking. Be well. 🙂

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  2. The passage of time passes irrevocably, and when it is gone the fluid stream freezes to stone. That is scary, except that we are so used to it we just breathe it without thinking. You are right, the presence and memory of loved ones is a comfort. Thank you for your reading.

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      1. I am stumped, it could be so many things: a marble clock, a bust or statue, a ghost, a painting of an ancestor, or perhaps a photo of a lost loved one…So many possibilities! If I have to pick one I say it feels like a ghost.

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      2. Hardly stumped I would say. That is the great thing about a poem, each reader will bring different things to it and have a different experience, no right answer. I had always read Frost’s “stopping by Woods” as a reflection on monism, how the woods and the world and the horse and the Speaker are all one. A good friend read it as a confrontation with crises and a narrow escape from suicide. Two radically different reads. Same poem. You and I are closer. When I wrote it I was thinking about how time flies forward but then is frozen in place when it passes, so actually, a marble clock. I like the idea of a spirit or ghost too. The door is a gateway looking back and forward to those we love who we have lost or will lose and hope to rejoin. They feel near. I appreciate your reading, Thank you.

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  3. I love this poem, the images, and the wonderful narration of your evening with your daughter. I sit here in my study, as I do whenever I write in my journal (the pre-step to putting the words onto the comupter and “playing with them”) and read, looking across the room at the photos placed on our convector with magnets. There are two lovely hand drawn childish paintings, a photo of my mom and dad (long passed into another world), and my five grandchildren, much younger than they are now. On my bookshelf to the right, are photos of my brother and I as children – he was nine years older than me and died of a sudden and massive heart attack at 51. And I think of what you’e written here, and the question I always come up with is
    “Why does the past have to happen so fast?”

    Liked by 2 people

    1. this heartfelt comment really makes my day. The past does happen so fast, and then seems fixed. I love those opportunities for remembrance though, as when you look across at those photos, when the past comes back, and sometimes standing in those doorways of transition, that stone face might seem like it is behind us, like time itself might be relegated to the past, that an eternity beckons. That is the way it feels sometimes. We hang on to those memories of our loved ones. My heart aches for the loss of your brother at such a young age.

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  4. mhmp77

    kaykuala

    Gentle remembrances
    Wash the whited frame.
    I know this place,
    Where young lovers meet,

    Memories keep repeating and it is most fulfilling to ease off the longings. Good to share quality time with one’s own, Lona!

    Hank

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you Hank, “ease off the longings” how very Buddhist of you. I think that is a sweet way to put it, it is nice to have a dram of memory, but if we get caught up in it can be addictive and consuming. Lovely reading, thanks again! 🙋🏻‍♀️

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    1. Thank you Paul, so glad you saw this. Your comment makes me wonder how the meaning of a room changes depending on whether you are focusing on the door, the walls, the windows, or the space. Can’t jump right on that like a prolific spinner of late-night thoughts that I know (you are really something, do you know that?). I have to let things bubble. Be well friend.

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