Soft footed, hair hissing,
Medusa glides the stopped town.
Even the wind is stilled: restless lift
of leaves down the long street
is a curl as stiff
as Brillcremed hair.
You can imagine her
a kind of viewer,
buying boxes of unsorted snapshots
at fleamarkets, thumbing
their softened edges, their oblique
inscriptions. Ted and Me,
The old place,
Last picture of Lucille.
In the front row of a family portrait, a toddler,
lost name not noted on the back,
holds a fistful of dark skirt, oval face
smudged with quickness. This
is what Medusa is searching for,
as she touches the eyelashes
of a boy caught darting
through stiff billows
of laundry: that blur,
the soft edge of her power.
to be truthful. i don't like this poem. I get caught up places like: "Medusa glides the stopped town". huh? and "boy caught darting/ through stiff billows/ of laundry:", I don't think of laundry with the family picture in my mind's eye. The 'search' is nice. The "restless lift of leaves" at first confused me after a stilled winds, but it made sense on re-read. Something in the putting all the pieces together seems to clash.
Either that, or I should not read poetry just after 2 days of meetings, work, and being tired.
Lovely. The idea of stone, stopped time, that Medusa lives in a world of still images. All that stiffness "as Brillcremed hair" in opposition to her own softness. Too wonderful.
This is my current favorite of your online works. I am a huge fan of the adaptation of classical/biblical/fairytale themes into poetry, marrying them with more relevant things.
Neat poem. I don't know whether to feel sorry for her or not. By viewer do you mean voyeur?
Can't get this poem out of my head. Medusa is in hell doomed to see only frozen moments of life - the status she has caused. You really feel sorry for her. In the commercial at least she has the blind man.
I like it. It makes sense once you realize it's Medusa turning people into stone as she walks through the town. Have you seen that commercial where Medusa retires and all but the blind guy get turned into stone?
Borrowing Barbara's habit of replying to comments....
I'm still working on this poem, experimenting with longer, softer lines.
I don't think I've quite got the tone -- Meg, maybe that's what bothers you? The boy in the laundry is real, not a picture.
Pat: I mean voyuer in part, but it's not a typo. Voyeur has too sexual baggage to bring across that sense of disconnection.
Eric: I'm glad it's haunting... I sure wish you hadn't brought up the commerical--talk about haunting!
K: Thanks! I like biblical/mythological stuff too. On these lines, read "Why a Bride Wears White."