making the page

making the page

Orphee
still from Cocteau’s ‘Testament of Orpheus’, the third movie of his Orphee trilogy

i tend to
write
mornings now
must be a
move up
from younger
days when only
night suited the
secret passing of
words to paper
a mother’s gift on
a seventeenth birthday
a blue typewriter
Consul brand ‘the
‘blue consul’ a
painter friend
called it
the how to type
manual i worked
my afternoon
way through
over weekends
evenings when
everyone else had
turned off whatever
was on or were
nodding before
the embers
the table lamp
on with smudge
of dizzy moth
about it
i’d start the
clack of keys
against the windowed
rain the tap of
drops on glass
like thoughts a
clutch of word to
move you further
along the line
the words looking
like they did in
books but not as
wise as crafted as
i’d hoped to
carry off
an image once
of wooden power
poles in fog
standing far apart
as stanzas of the
poem that didn’t
quite grasp them
haunted me for
weeks the ‘stamping’
of their standing
in that mist with
wet ceramic
heads bored through
with wires lamps
spun with
shining

i write
mostly mornings
now in the
first freshness
i find of
the day
tell myself i’m
moving upward
writing toward
the light rather
than away
from it
the passion of
it still the same
an ear to the
underground river
the orphic
singers the
castle wordsmiths
browsing along
its banks
crying afar
things that
might yet
make the
page.

july 2012

Copyright ©2012 Peter Le Baige.  All Rights Reserved

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