After the Flood Only the Blind Poet was Left to Give Things their Name
 

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& if my God was the Blank & not the Flood
or the whirlwind which would arrogantly preen
in front of Job & brag at being God,
if God was the Blank that made the world so clean

then I was crouched inside the carapace
of God made from the rubbed-out world. What a gift!
I thought, knees to chest on an outcrop, face
to face with the eager water — like a thief

surrounded by a pack of guard dogs — He
had blossomed round me in His nothingrose
of silence that I may have the privilege
to name again all of His blanknesses.


I stood up in the dark & said a word
& it climbed hands out from my mouth to beat
its way through God: flying like a blind bird.
& I was there to let the noonelight speak:

to pass my hands through the dust like a clock:
to chain each undrowned thing to its ticking name,
each name as blind to the beast that I had locked
it to as I: blind: therefore free from blame.
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This is just ravishing, Cameron, I keep coming back to it and reading it over and over again and, really, I have nothing to suggest that might improve it. It has such a forward momentum that it carries one through its typographical eccentricities so that, as a reader, I feel almost like a blind man feeling my way through a maze that grows more and more familiar as I proceed. The negative theological connotations it sets up with God as a blankness (as opposed to a flood or a whirlwind), a blankness that only a blind poet can supply with the variegated logos of creation—that gyre of thought takes me, as a reader, on a thrilling ride. I love how this God frees his blind Adam from sin in such an unorthodox way, and how blindness and blankness are the source of the all, how blindness to the all restores blankness, and yet blindness in blankness then restores creation, word by word by word. The whole unfolds like an alchemical process in which only the adept can distinguish between the prima materia and its ultimate transmutation.

As I have said before, these blind poet poems need to be collected, and published as a suite.

Nemo

Yes, this is very good.

It has the odd but pleasurable feel of a repeating form such as a sestina as God cycled through. I like the rhyming.

And "nothingrose" is amazing! Working with both definitions of "rose". Then, after introducing such a word, you secure it with noone-light. Maybe you don't need the hyphen! That would be my only suggested consideration, and it's not even serious.

Rick

Thank you Nemo and Rick. I'm very glad that it is "ravishing". How strange, those poems that you feel less sure about are met with praise, and those of yours you particularly like inspire pages of debate. I love Dickinson's negative theology. Three words to make one, eh, Rick. Let us see if that is too much.

A minor nit, I was thrown out of the poem some by the word 'clock'. Everything that precedes has an ancient / biblical feel, but clock feels more modern and broke the spell for me.

I get that you'd need to re-work the entire stanza, but IMO this stanza would work better if you can keep the biblical feel.

I agree with the others, quite enjoyed this one.

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It is beautifully said in striking words and tone that arrests me at different points as I move through a startling landscape that inspires me (e.g. Blank, carapace, rubbed-out, nothingrose, blanknesses, noonelight and more), and the sharp imagery (blind bird) is like a jagged painting.

The subtleness of the extra space between S3 and S4 expertly uses blank space to speak volumes. The way the last two stanzas then proceed to lock into a rhythm and rhyme that, in and of themselves, again speak without words.

The last stanza is taking a long time to digest. I've still not fully digested it. I feel like it's meant to be that way. You've taken on such a difficult subject to address and you've done so with rare energy and unblinking concentration I can only dream of having.

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This is as good as Nemo and Rick say it is. I have nothing to add to that.

I did have an idea that is not a critique of this poem. The poem is yours and that’s the best thing that can be said about a poem. Reading it I thought of what one of your poems would be like a little less enthusiastic. If your brilliance was held back a little. Your reference to Dickinson made me think.

Again, not a critique of this poem. Merely an idea I thought to pass along.

Hi Cameron,

I think that the appeal this one has for me is that you haven't "worked it out". There is a mystery that may be mysterious to you as well, which may be why you feel "less sure" of this one. It's not a bad way to feel. It also contributes to the flow, including a flow of surprises, that carries me right along.

Rick

When I read your poetry Cameron I am continually minded of Celtic literature there is a mystical aspect to your work. If I look for meaning or logic it eludes however it leaves me with questions and that is always a good thing.

This is really impressive, Cameron, and quite mesmeric. As good as much of the whole is, I have to say that I love the final two stanzas so much that I wonder if they could stand as the whole poem. It seems to work that way, for me at least.

Well, just a thought (which I’m sure you’ll have very valid reasons for dismissing).

Mark