Elegy – 2

sense of paralysis

gaps in comprehension

rapid heartbeat

dryness in the throat

the mouth as well

eyes flashing

one memory after another

gasping for air

as if stabs here and there

 

could never say goodbye

12 Comments

Filed under Poetry

12 responses to “Elegy – 2

  1. The aforementioned point my dear Hülya come from being a forever optimist… as in my glass is always being half full, rather than half empty! Happy days to you…

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    • …guilty as charged, dear Jean-Jacques…I am, that is: an eternally loyal pessimist. Hence, the flavor of sadness (to say the least) in most of my writings. But, I am training myself toward your thought-processing, what to me, is a realistic life view.

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      • I must be honest, and admit that it is indeed a constant hard fought battle, as an eternal optimist, to be forced to deal seemingly cast in stone pessimistic issues that fall so far beyond our control into the hands of our world fearless leaders and their money lenders ( a biblical term from a non-believer) who have us on a one way tract to hell. Apart from that, I would rather reach out and chance be bitten, than hold back and miss out on an honest kiss!

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        • I am in awe as to how much we have in common, dear friend Jean-Jacques – including the “non-believer” part. Every thought you worded here found its place in the depth of my mind, with a soothing effect for which I am very thankful to you. I, too, would rather sail into the stormy sea than wait at the shore in a frozen state (and have done so). (Still, though, I am holding on to my pessimistic hat…)

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  2. could never say goodbye…until time casts its spell, and moves memory into the healing shadows, one more time!

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    • I continue to struggle to come to terms with the “healing” aspect of “memory”…So, I keep coming back to Faulkner’s deliberations…“Memory believes before knowing remembers. Believes longer than recollects, longer than knowing even wonders”…to make sense of my own experiences…

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      • Struggle and healing, one way or another, is a never ending. As is the pain and times in William Faulkner’s beautiful and marvellous stories. Somewhere in between pain and time there is light.

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        • A pleasure to know you, too, are a fond reader of Faulkner. Ah, yes, the “light”…it is there but not often or long enough…

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          • Something to look forward to, knowing that as day follows night, light will come again, dear friend.

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            • The light comes in-between, doesn’t it? I, however, seem to insist on seeing the darkness more. Thank you from the heart for hearing me, dear dost Jean-Jacques. (“dost”, in Turkish, equals a friend who is one unconditionally, who listens with the heart, not judging no matter what.)

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              • I am both honoured and deeply touched to be given such a gift, that of being your “dost” and will indeed treasure this privileged, while asking you to accept my friendship in the same manner and intention. Be assured that hearing you is to me a main ingredient and condition of friendship.

                That you should touch on the subject of friend, I am taking the liberty of sending you a poem I wrote many years ago, which was published, and won me my very first prize for poetry. It tells of what I feel and think of the term “friend”

                “ Friend ”
                ~ a singular entitlement ~

                Why do they call me friend…

                What is their cause
                Or purpose
                To judge me worthy,
                That they should levy
                Such expression of regard,
                Entrust this much
                Responsibility
                To be bestowed
                Upon my person,
                Thus be asked to manage
                With this impressive status…

                And to this title friend,
                A singular entitlement,
                Who possesses
                Such impartiality
                Could deem me deserving,
                Or capable indeed
                To discharge such obligation,
                Required and implied
                When one is given title,
                That of being called friend…

                Why do they call me friend!

                © Jean-Jacques Fournier

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                • My utmost enthusiastic thanks for sharing your art here with me! I, too, am honored and touched for you to accept my friendship call. To be one of those whom you “[c]ould deem […] deserving, / Or capable indeed” is, to me, “[a] singular entitlement” indeed.

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