Adamant on the Edge of Dreams by Lisa Marguerite Mora
by Steven McCabe
I don’t know what God is doing.
He sears me with the palm of his hand,
hollows me out with light
so that I can’t feel my bones anymore.
And my grief—
not that gut wrenching stuff,
is just water that flows and flows, flows unimpeded now—
I am open,
undammed and not drowning,
not fighting for my life.
Why is it I can see your face so clearly?
I am floating (90% water, they say),
my ribcage, fluid, caging and releasing.
I have become amphibian.
I do not know whether to walk or swim.
I miss the bones
of the earth, dark stones, polished pain hard beneath my feet.
Gravel and grit I need. Dust. Dirt.
Black and pungent.
But there is just light split
and your face
adamant on the edge of dreams.
And I wake
as if you were really here.
Lisa Marguerite Mora is a prize winning poet and a freelance editor. She conducts creative writing workshops, and this year has completed a poetry manuscript and a first novel.
She lives in Los Angeles, California.
I was influenced by the idea of an edge while depicting the figure – who fluctuates between pictorial and pictographic. The waking in the poem seems to be another edge, or a disappearing edge, delineating realms of water & light, idea & memory, as well as the all encompassing natural, visceral world.
I am moved by the depth and beauty of this poem, and the visual art accompanying it.
Thank you for sharing this thought Robin. I share your feeling about the poem. And appreciate what you say about the visual art.
Beautiful, especially on the third read, when the images and text stopped being separate expressions.
Thank you for your comment Adam. Interesting how you experienced the page over three readings. & thanks for the time you gave to this poetry-visual art dialogue.
That mutable edge is also predominant in music when, for instance, the harmony crosses the bar line (usually anticipating the chord change) or when a chromatic phrase (below or above the tonic center) begs for a resolution, a sharp edge. And graphic arts, as you ably demonstrate, can quite stealthily cross those bar lines too.
Hi exiledprospero, This fascinating thought about the mutable edge has new information for me. I’m not that knowledgeable about how music works so I can only imagine what you mean but I can, in some way, ‘hear’ this. And I appreciate your thought about the graphics…yes, I think there is some stealth involved…with subtle intonation and surprise sounds suddenly arriving or trailing off. A parallel universe, perhaps, to the poem. Thank you very much.
Steven, I want desperately to comment on this one, but I don’t know how, other than to say (and it sounds silly as it comes out) I’ve walked in a land very close to those images you made and the poem only intensifies the familiarity- so I am a little speechless, but thank you, none the less. I marvel at this kinship.
Jack, Hi! And thank you. I appreciate what you express and nothing about it sounds silly. I believe what you say. And I”m looking for the words that somehow describe symbols or the landscape opening or the sky revealing and I can’t quite find the words. Something too about texture and invention. And materials. Based on what I’ve seen of your work, I think you’re *there,* and (more than me I think) working the substance that keeps the air functioning, very much operating from this place. Yes, I see something in your work that reminds me of very familiar territory. The poem does intensify this feeling doesn’t it. I can’t quite put my finger on what Lisa is doing but it seems both solid and ephemeral at the same time. Ethereal and concentrated.
Beautiful words & art ❤
I appreciate this venue and all the comments. Am compelled by the “mutable edge” in art and in life.
Lisa, thank you for sharing your poem and also for this thought about the edge…the ‘mutable edge’ you experience…I sense an edge in this poem which somehow encloses us and opens a doorway at the same time…perhaps like sound or light, yet physically engaged. I felt an engagement with the dance of these (mutable) edges while creating the images..
Thank you Maia.
A lyrical littoral drift.
I love the slipping in and out with the words an images. Liquid to sand and back again, or almost…
A gorgeous coming together.
Beautiful Karen and thank you for this poetic image and thought and I might as well be honest – I didn’t know the word littoral…so, a different sort of edge now you introduce…I’m imagining a wash like watercolour paint on a loaded brush…
Thank you Patti.