I CANNOT NOW REMEMBER

Image result for perspective from a train in painting

I cannot now remember what

It looked like, or what you said.

Sometimes memory is as fresh as spring

And sometimes it falls dead.

My great desire for you is only because

I am bad at remembering.

When someone is really beautiful,

Memory doesn’t work on them.

We have to constantly look at them.

This is why bad memory is crazy

And those with good memory are lazy

When it comes to desire and love.

Who could remember you?

We can’t remember the beautiful.

The beautiful is beautiful now.

A train ride is a feast for the eyes,

The three dimensional landscape

Perfect as it goes past.

A moment ago I had an idea for a poem.

But it didn’t last.

 

12 Comments

  1. maryangeladouglas said,

    January 18, 2020 at 11:45 pm

    WHO MOVED THE SUN

    is terrror the drifting of beauty
    beauty that cannot remain is it the
    shepherds on the plain

    blinded by the blazing in the skies
    illuminated by angels
    or the Magi before the Child

    the star appearing within them now

    everywhere else, it is Winter for a long, long Time.

    or we are children walking across the plains
    of our backyard in our new overshoes
    so that the snow has become the imprint

    our imprint upon it
    so that the snow is no longer itself
    or your shadow grows on the sidewalk

    leafy as summers

    you dont even know enough to say
    who moved the sun
    who moved the day out of the way

    now it is night
    and the jeweled tree darkens
    the jeweled tree of the sky

    you are asleep.
    but you dont know why.

    mary angela douglas 18 january 2020

    • thomasbrady said,

      January 19, 2020 at 10:09 am

      This is a lovely poem. Quite haunting. I think you will be remembered as one of the great Christian poets, if not as one of the greatest poets to grace this world. Your reputation is assured!

      • maryangeladouglas said,

        January 19, 2020 at 8:54 pm

        Very kind of you say to say about my poem. my poetry. It certainly would make me very happy to be remembered as a Christian poet that is for sure. The way our culture is now and has been for some time it is my prayer that Poetry itself in the great sense will be remembered;it does seem endangered, especially the lyrical and the Romantic school which you espouse and emulate and care about so deeply. The literature of imagination, of beauty and grace, as you say is valid. And I do believe the most valid. Im rereading Fahrenheit 451 a lot these days, every day in fact. You are certainly one of those book people where Keats, Shelley, Poe, and others are concerned, keeping all that alive in your own work viably and unrepentently and That is no small endeavor.

  2. maryangeladouglas said,

    January 19, 2020 at 2:19 am

    You find the most beautiful paintings to illustrate your work. Please, what is the title and who is the artist of this painting?

    • thomasbrady said,

      January 19, 2020 at 10:17 am

      Yes, I love this. I always have an idea first of what I want to illustrate a poem, then Google a phrase. In this case “train perspective in painting” or something like that. I mostly type “renaissance painting,” because otherwise i tend to get very poor illustrations. Often, I don’t find exactly the image I want, or at all what I want: illustrations are certainly numerous, but iconic subjects, photos, paintings still must be done! Much of life is still not rendered! This looks like a colored photograph, doesn’t it? Let me find the info for you…”Orange Sky Train Tracks” by Faye Cummings, 69.00 list price. Yes, it is a digital painting, made from a photograph taken in 2008.

  3. maryangeladouglas said,

    January 19, 2020 at 8:47 pm

    What an enchanting way to find an illustration. And unique, to say the least. I imagined it was a work of pointillism but as my sister would probably say, that is beside the point. I know zilch about digital art and of course about many other things. I did notice it had a strange beautiful aura but I didn’t know why. Never would have guessed in a millennium’s millennium it was re-engineered from a photograph. Incredible. I do feel the colours in it align themselves with the colours in the poem and amplify them which is pleasing.

  4. maryangeladouglas said,

    January 19, 2020 at 9:09 pm

    I never said but I did very much value and still do the poetry you discovered and fostered from India and it made me so happy to know that even though the lyric seemed squashed in America otherwhere it was not. Also appreciate very much finding out about Ben Mazer and his work. I always appreciate your poems because I can see you are making them from yourself and not for glory, for truth and that is rare.

  5. maryangeladouglas said,

    January 21, 2020 at 5:32 pm

    NO MATTER WHAT LANGUAGE

    we sought the far language

    the one spelled out in stars

    the one of outposts

    the gap between telegrams

    in the never ending wars.

    the polar stillness.

    it’s not for glory or to relinquish old scars

    when scars are deeper than the crevasse

    you could have fallen into.

    why didn’t you. you know it must God

    who kept your soul from breaking into two

    in the ice storms

    where He shielded you

    but who will believe you

    that this really happened

    no matter what language you mine.

    mary angela douglas 21 november 2020

  6. maryangeladouglas said,

    January 21, 2020 at 5:33 pm

    OOPS January not november. Wouldn’t it be interesting if we could receive poems in advance. What kind of time warp would that be or how impossible to describe in advance of what.

  7. Desdi said,

    January 22, 2020 at 5:09 pm

    I are can not read so many poem. So much poetry is hurt my brain.

  8. maryangeladouglas said,

    January 22, 2020 at 11:04 pm

    I DREAMED THAT GOD WORE A WOUNDED SKIN

    I dreamed that God wore a wounded skin

    almost an animal skin comprised

    of all the wounds that were ever felt of

    you and I or devised

    like peacock eyes the wounds were open

    and ongoing. majestic and terrible

    I dreamed this was a cloak he wore

    that fused to His invisibility and Light and more

    that could not be burned off because he would not let it be

    until each child’s misery came to an end even the smallest

    bird brambled cut

    and this was his defense against

    the taunts of the Enemy of those

    who thought he was the origin of pain and willed it so

    so He carried Himself and was His own mystery

    by His own perfection by his all seeing Heart

    and Eye

    and this was the coat he wore in season and out

    that kept on growing and that he felt what we felt

    all of us each of us and all the time and so specifically

    each recorded in His skin: lash of the day

    eruption within, uprising chained and muted

    so that the coat kept growing through all

    the sad disputes of his existence and our wars

    He was our scars completely

    and He moved through time and space this way so slowly

    with the wounds seeping and each one fresh as the

    day it was made

    and that it became Him more and more

    He was so one with it

    in such a specific way

    that when we prayed oh Father help me here

    all the wounds sprung fresh tears

    and He named them, name by name.

    mary angela douglas 22 january 2020

  9. maryangeladouglas said,

    January 22, 2020 at 11:11 pm

    I really did have this dream. Todayl


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