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Ink Ocean by Brenda Clews


poem written over 6 -8 months, 2010

Ink Ocean: Brenda Clews, poetry, reading, mix; music (mixed by Brenda Clews), Alphacore, 'side_project,' from "Side Project": , and Extra's, 'The Quickest Vessel to a Distant Future,' from "Water Every Full Moon". http://www.jamendo.com/en/track/700879
Ink Ocean 9:58min


 Ink Ocean

In the burning ocean. Where plumes drag through the world's gloom. Swoop of feathers, tarred. Or metal wings of dispersants. Gloss the rocks. You can't know where we go at night. Or why the morning shines. Or the glimmer of gold before sunset. Relentless tidal cycles. Let me tear at the crests and troughs. Go in. GO IN. Shiver. Sin. Dark water, grey clouds. A black rain falls from the sky. Drips. Rips, slashes the wet heaving page. Heat of sandpaper on fire. Burn the slick, salt water on fire. Coral crevices to hide. Grottos like vowels. That invite. Come in, why don't you. Open. Open. Open. Arms reach up. Seeds rain down. Wash the foam. Pray forests. Burning despair of illusion. Fruit of veils to burn in. Salt washes open eyes. Deltas fog. They said GO IN.
.

In the night, I covered the words. Ink sheets. Sheets of the net of ink. Even I couldn't read them anymore. I forgot the words, or they forgot me. Or I had to make them up when you asked. They washed up from the black ocean, those words. Spun out of black thread with black foam on a wave darkly. Ocean of words lapping on the beach,
reckoning.
.

Love isn't a silky bliss mist, more like the suture we sew our wounds with. The bloodied scapula-feathers of angels.
.

Language summons us to speak.

Speaking cascades from depths
like wells of water overflowing.

Water eats away at order, rivers
erode their banks, deltas silt.

Our words silt in the paddies
of time, flooded with being.
.

...the ocean
tempests, salt
waves seep
from the rug
under my feet...
.
This strange sea birdsong on love.
.
Coded words. Words that conceal what they reveal, that hide their message in plain sight. Invisible essence of the world. We are seeing what is invisible. The falling butterflies. Our hands full of snow. Or white feathers in the heat. What do we hide behind? What can we not forget? The way we perceive the lives we live are our realities.
Don't make it up.

When I speak, water drops of me, my desk, the paper.

The salt burns.
.

We could be stars burning through the night
or phosphorescent fish glowing without starlight in the deep.

I am a fisherman of words, dragging my nets through your oceans, trawling your schools
of lexicons.
.

Love is the twine that binds our bones together.

Let the cold water fill our eyes until we swim in vision every night.

Oil swirls, coating.
.

Under sheets of sea in the frozen Atlantic we found each other.

You came in me like a wave of love.

My heart dances still.

Whalesong of life.

Salt falls from feathers under this pen writing its words on the dark side of the moon
in the abandoned ocean beds.


Wet, heaving page.

Ink sheets.


Love is an aorta. A pounding surf of consonants like blood cells in the syrum falling from
rising wings.


It's a clash of shell, bone, hunger, physics, troughs and crests, blinding moments, the
sight of psychics.


Into. The explosion of who we are.
Our oily words. Crashing waters.
Choking the river streams. Fish bulging, dying.
We eat the world.

We go out each night and net the catch. Clean up the mess. Retain memories. Under
our gold skin, arms flap like wings of waves.
.

Let me flow over you while you drown me.

...in your love. in your love. in your love...
.


The dream of us opens.

I fold the ocean over my head. Spy on our dreams. Within dreams we liquify. We are gone at night. Wings of sand on fire. The lovers' grotto, held together with crab claws, filament of gold feather shafts. Gilded ink. Love wakes
you every day. Into
your
body, body
of words.

Seeping, lines of tar on the sands.
Crumple the inked paper of wind.


Find darkness; bring it in.
Find light; bring it in.
IN.


An opencast poem, working from the exposed surface.

Taking images from what appears.
.

we anchor in the swells.

we are sky, sun, moon, stars, wet kisses of wind, sailing birds, flying fish, glittering ocean


we are nothing


we will wash away
drops in the ocean
without memory

nets of words
dissolving


knowing
this strange song of
love loves
through us...

love loves
through us...

love loves
through us...

Jan/25/2011, 3:44 pm Link to this post Send Email to libramoon   Send PM to libramoon Blog
 
Katlin Profile
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Re: Ink Ocean by Brenda Clews


Hi Libra,

I like the way this poem starts out detailing the tragedy of the oil spill and then uses the suffering as a vehicle for awakening and transformation into the ecstatic and mystical. I love the line:

"Love isn't a silky bliss mist, more like the suture we sew our wounds with"

and the ending:

"knowing
this strange song of
love loves
through us..."

Thanks for sharing.

Jan/27/2011, 2:14 pm Link to this post Send Email to Katlin   Send PM to Katlin
 
libramoon Profile
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Re: Ink Ocean by Brenda Clews


You are very welcome, Katlin. Brenda is a "friend" on another venue who kindly gave me permission to post her poem here, where I felt it might find further appreciation.
Jan/27/2011, 2:46 pm Link to this post Send Email to libramoon   Send PM to libramoon Blog
 
Terreson Profile
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Re: Ink Ocean by Brenda Clews


This is quite the poem. Here is not the place for crit or evaluation, but I got to say this is one fine poem. I think I get what your friend is after: trying to make sense of something the magnitude of which defies sense itself. I mean who can ever wrap their brain around such a disaster amid so much beauty.

I've said this many times before and will likely keep on repeating myself. Sometimes I can read a woman's poem and feel as if the maneads are speaking or actually acting out the world's dramatic actions. Sometimes, even, I can get the sense that Gaia herself is putting words to what she is, what she wants, what she dreams. I don't know. Maybe it has to do with a woman poet's heightened sense of interiority or something, proceeding from the inside out. Just guessing.

Your friend is right, I think, to turn to love in the circumstance. Maybe that is what Gaia needs of all she creates. I confess your friend might be bigger than me, as I am just this side of giving up on the species. "Let me flow over you while you drown me" affects the heck out of me. I have a prose poem, two actually, that go to the same thing. And how the poem ends chant-like. Just wow.

Thank you for posting your friend's poem. And thank your friend too for making it. Gaia's Gown just got richer.

Tere
Jan/29/2011, 4:38 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
libramoon Profile
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Re: Ink Ocean by Brenda Clews


Well, thanks for making me feel I did the right thing by posting it here.
Jan/29/2011, 5:40 pm Link to this post Send Email to libramoon   Send PM to libramoon Blog
 


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