BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,
BTRIPP
btripp

Poetry and all that ...

My ... what a prime example of my writing. Yes, finally something that is NOT WHINING ... how nice! This, obviously, has something to do with the Mies show that I went to last night, but, as is typical in my poems, the specifics of the "external world" event or thing drop away in favor of their echoes within my psyche. Here there is the sense of my memories of the buildings, the context of the archittecture, the event itself, my reaction to that, my perceptions of my reactions, and how that fits into some sort of mythic universe. Almost a "textbook" look at how these things come out of my head. Sometimes I wish I could write ABOUT things, but for me "things"/"people"/"events" are all in another world ... one that I, obviously, have some contact with, but which is not MY world.

The separation reminds me of my reaction to Demerol (my least favorite of the popular pain killers ... I had to beg them to switch me off of it when I was in the hospital after the '93 car crash) when I had my wisdom teeth removed back in highschool ... the pain, while not GONE was sort of "someplace else", like in another room ... my body was obviously still very much in pain (I could not lie on my side wtihout twiching, as this would put the weight of my head on the jaw) but my conscious mind was not engaged wtih it. Somehow I have developed a "Demerol-like" remove from the "real world", the world of objects and occurrences, leaving me in a place where the psychic impressions OF that world are what is "real" rather than the stuff itself. In the words of a very strange person that I knew some 30 years ago: "ooooh ... HEAVY!".

We're off for Florida this afternoon, going down to visit with my father-in-law for a few days at his place in Jacksonville. I can only imagine how far behind on my Friends List I'll be when i get back on Wednesday ... so forgive me if I miss reading about momentous occasions in your various existences, as I suspect I will have to do a lot of "light scanning" over the 600 or so posts that I anticipate will be awaiting.

Oh, and if my absence/silence becomes too unbearable, you can alwasy take SOME solace in reading my older poems ... you know, over there at http://i.am/btripp ... wouldn't want y'all getting TOO happy while I'm gone, ya know!


                    JUST STEEL AND GLASS


                    what shifts time
                    when every system
                    becomes antique,
                    when newness slides
                    into memory,
                    into history,
                    into absence
                    seeding ache?

                    we scan the outer form
                    and reinvest
                    ourselves to patterns
                    passed away,
                    we touch these things
                    on other planes
                    of whole duration
                    as part of us within

                    when at the point
                    of our immersion,
                    when masses surge
                    and crowds align,
                    we watch these worlds collide
                    in fission, fusion,
                    unholy fire
                    consuming contact's frame

                    layer upon layer,
                    states maintained mid states,
                    the onion of all vectors
                    peels outward for the eye
                    capable of seeing
                    kaleidoscope expansion
                    in creation and destruction
                    with alterations all insane

                    and always at the ending
                    there is silence,
                    solitude and submission
                    to the roles we play,
                    to the crushing vision
                    and the isolation
                    from world and race
                    that is our weight to bear



                             - Brendan Tripp
                                02/15/2002

                    Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
 
 


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