Monday, July 26, 2010

A Tryst At The Cimmerian Hour

At night when silence slowly creeps
Into the very crevices of rocks and tree-roots,
When the wolves and crickets join the cacophony,
Of night creatures howling grievances to the moon,
As he leaves his darkly silent womb-
I die a sweet, aching death.

At night when mottled fungi awake
To the empyreal dome arching above,
When dewy-eyed flowers luxuriate
By the swiftly streaming brook,
As he picks up the lurking scent and prowls-
I wait for him with bated breath.

At night when an errant moon coerces the sea waves
And they wax and wane in a fury of confusion;
When sea men pray in vain for deliverance
From the vengeful wrath of mighty Neptune,
As I open the door to his urgent embrace-
I drape my desire, over my yearning breast.

(In memory of D.H Lawrence)




14 comments:

Jenny Enochsson said...

A strong piece with texture and life! And Lawrence is one of my absolute favorites.

Zaina Anwar said...

Thank you, Jenny. I am not thoroughly satisfied with the overall structure especially the way the last two lines connect with each of the second and third stanzas. But what the hell! I'm trying, I'm trying :)

Gerry Boyd said...

lovely.

Zaina Anwar said...

Thank you, Gerry.

Old 333 said...

Yeah, good one. I thought it went together very well. Really quite lovely. Plus anything Cimmerian is mysteriously exciting.

Zaina Anwar said...

Thank you, PG. If you think that it hangs together, then there must be some truth to it.

Zaina Anwar said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Zaina Anwar said...

Removed because I accidentally printed the same comment twice..

The Scrybe said...

Another wonderfully woven piece, beautiful. And how I can relate! The bittersweet torment in waiting.
And of course I am also a fan of Lawrence :)

Zaina Anwar said...

Thank you, Scrybe. I have an obsession with Lawrence. He is one of those authors I keep on returning to again and again. He speaks to me, deep down, which is how it's supposed to be with every good writer. Or maybe, it's just me. Thanks again for reading my little tale...

Gerry Boyd said...

This also made me think of Conan the Cimmerian. Perhaps odd, but the somewhat classic style and language employed would not necessarily out of place among some of the tales of that wondrous barbarian. Is there connexion between D. H. Lawrence and Cimmerian of which I am not aware? With T. E. Lawrence (Lawrence of Arabia) I can get there with a stretch, but DH, no can do. Just curious, that's all.

Zaina Anwar said...

Gerry, I have not used the word 'cimmerian' here as a reference to the mythology which lies at its origin. As you know, this word can also be used to denote darkness so intense as to be almost impenetrable. That's all I mean here- a dark, gloomy hour. In fact, your comment has made me realize that I should capitalize all the words in the title. That way, it won't be misleading. Also, it is the content of the poem that refers to some of the themes encountered in Lawrence. In this piece, references to nature symbolize sexual desire which is violent, dark and ultimately, unknowable, since it lies at the very root of 'being'. That's a very important tenet of Lawrence's philosophy. In fact, taking the philosophy one step further, like Heidegger said, in order to understand individual beings, one has to first know 'Being'. I sometimes feel, that to Lawrence, sex might have been Being itself. You must have noticed that the action in this poem slowly builds up even though the events are not sequential. What started out as nocturnal silence ultimately turns into a storm at sea. This veils the underlying reference to the increase in the intensity of desire...
I hope my explanation helps :)

Gerry Boyd said...

Thanks Zaina. Interesting motivation on your part. Large fan of Lawrence (DH of course although TE is also intriguing as a life if not all that much as a writer for me). Heidegger, eh? 'Dasein' and all that. The thing in itself. Cartwheels of confusion and the dance between Being and Becoming. I eventually gave up on formal philosophy. 'Being and Nothingness' pushed me over the edge. Now I only thank philosophy for leading me to poetry, our only chance, in my amateur's opinion, for attempting truth in words. Even there my 'every attempt is another kind of failure' but how necessary to keep on trying, no? Cheers.

Zaina Anwar said...

'We have art so that we may not perish by the truth'- Nietzsche