He who creates re-creates himself

He who creates re-creates himself

for René Passeron

             You may not grow old too soon
Things you have known will come back to you again
No revision nor recall need put them back in place

          Time was when you knew the time 
    the place   the face
        Even the scarce women in prized moments gone in pain

Who would care    nor what would it matter
   in which life    upon what water
        you have trailed your fingers
             upon waves of papers

Let your mind brush
                               some canvas in a rush
Left your mark
                      upon some bark
         Wed some wanton women
spawned wholesome omens

Made as if        the artier your words
     held some moment in a perennial frame
  Never to be banged away by fading suns
              collapsing quasars
                  asteroid storms
                      puncturing galaxies
                          usurping black holes

Can this act of writing seize the moment
Or is it your way of saying

        What else is there to be done?

Let the unknowable undermine the unknown

                                   Here on this planet
we have made our sinuous conventions
         stick to paper and canvas
                  stone and sound

And words that are haloed
           by the sickness of the poet
  though all is not lost for the pen
                                   whose blood will

our futile justifications
doctoral dissertations

And generations will tremulously grant him
      The right to unravel the eternities
For one who dared capture the moment
      In the capsule of a poem

 ©: T.Wignesan 1987 April 12, 1987 [from the collection : back to background material, 1993] Pub. in Poietics: Disquisitions on the Art of Creation. Allahabad: Cyberwit.net, 2008. "Poem of the Month" at Alongstoryshort site, February 2012.

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