literature

All Over By Morning

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aegiandyad's avatar
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Literature Text

All Over By Morning

A tinkling world of falling silver leaves,
you float out backwards
and I follow you
sliding on glassy pavements
in between the legs of people
crossing a deserted square
unheeded by the empty crowd.

I'm in a hall of mirrors each of which reflects
your figure dressed in white
except the one I look at which is me.

I find a crystal door with you behind it
and insert the key.
I try to do it softly
but the door just shatters
and I feel your silent scream
come pouring through the splintered lock,
viscid, like weightless blood.
I try to push it through the broken door.
It won't all go at once.
My hands are wet, I think it must be tears
but no one's crying.

Outside, the footsteps of the metachronal crowd
are trampling the silver leaves
and blood is flowing slowly in the gutter.

I feel that you were in there somewhere,
running from me.
Possibly my best poem. I don't suppose I shall ever write anything much better. This appeared some time around 1968.

Here is a link to something I found recently that would make a great book cover or album illustration for this piece: [link] and here is my latest image, which somehow seems to go with it as well: [link]
© 2010 - 2022 aegiandyad
Comments16
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aegiandyad's avatar
I gave the first stanza to that new AI that predicts what will be written next. It mangled Hamlet's famous soliloquy. And had NO IDEA what I was going to write next:
. Judge for yourselves! That said, it was awe inspiringly 'human'...


Me: "A tinkling world of falling silver leaves;
you float out backwards and I follow you,
sliding on glass pavements
in between the legs of people
crossing a deserted square"

while your shadow falls over me. The sky's not so far from my head
as it is from the clouds, the stars are as bright
as you imagine. 
The music is a whisper, a high, melodic note,
its shape is not mine to remember.
The moon is a dark, blue stone,
and the people stand around,
the faces are all my same;
it feels like a dream. But no matter how hard I try,
the world won't let me sleep.
I try in vain in the night,
my head begins to burn away.
There, a voice sounds in my head, just like the one
that comes from the moon.
It tells me I should move on, that I can't stay
without falling into the abyss. You should
find somewhere you're not.
You should stop looking for the wrong that you don't know.
You should find

Good, isnt it? But it was't me. What would have happened if I'd put in the full stop and the stanza break?
aegiandyad's avatar
THIS: 
Completion
A tinkling world of falling silver leaves,
you float out backwards
and I follow you 
sliding on glassy pavements
in between the legs of people
crossing a deserted square
unheeded by the empty crowd.

It's the kind of place where a man goes alone
as he's lost in thought...
I don't know how long you were looking for me,
I didn't realize you'd been there
the whole time, with those sweet eyes,
I can feel your heart beating and it sounds like a
glimpse of an invisible person,
some kind of phantom who wants me and I don't
know if I want to see it again and again,
and you know how I feel about phantom bodies.
We're all so lonely, why won't you love me?
I don't want to give you up, but I could
I could if you would just ask me
Don't be afraid of anything,
it's all been a dream of mine
and you know what they say
We're all made of glass and we can't see out of
it!
I am just a small girl,

Is that not incredible?
aegiandyad's avatar
Completion
I'm in a hall of mirrors each of which reflects
your figure dressed in white
except the one I look at which is me.

I find a crystal door with you behind it
and insert the key.


I go through the crystal doors where you're

at. I go into the corridor, I open the door

and you're not there.

I enter the corridor, in front of me

there is another person dressed in white

except that one I look at which is me.

I look into that corridor and can't see

what I look at.

I look into the corridor, I see you

dressed in white again, and that's me.

And then I look into the corridor again

and see that you're not there

I walk back into the hall of mirrors.

I enter again the hall of mirrors

and see you there

I look behind you and see the room full of mirrors

in the corridor. I walk into the corridor and see you in the mirror.

I walk into the corridor on the same

[This AI writing thing is more obsessive than I am...]
willyamPax's avatar
a well done piece
with lots of imagine used..
i like it..
AtarAtis's avatar
It is like a bad dream you know you need to wake up from but cannot get out of the flow of it!

Very well written!
The image I find fitting but maybe a little too red... I need more reflection also ;)

well done!
EscapingThePast's avatar
i love the last line the most. so amazing.
aegiandyad's avatar
The intention was to go as far as possible while still being polite. This was written in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), which was at that time a sort of time capsule of the nineteen fifties, with mores and attitudes to match. When I had this read out for me at a some sort of poetry workshop nobody wanted to explain what they they thought it meant. Eventually, Cynthia Hind, better known as a UFO journalist and researcher, had to give them a hint. I did mange to get it into Two Tone, a quarterly English/Shone bilingual poetry magazine. Sometime I must submit another poem I sneaked into it when the poetic powers that be were foolish enough to allow me to edit it for one quarter.
Chapter37's avatar
Man this is intense! I read it and felt like I knew where you were in life when this happened... By far, some amazing writing!

I think it is more amazing that this was written in '68... :)

I can see how the cypress mystery connects here... It is almost like that surreal image of the shattered crystal door. (I may be way off, but then again I am always a little off...)

And the Memories Collector 05: Aida, definitely compliments this work!

(Thanks for bringing Aegis-Strife to my attention... He's got some pretty awesome works himself!)
WingedValor's avatar
Did you find them?
aegiandyad's avatar
Sorry, find what?
WingedValor's avatar
You said you think they were in there, trying to find you and yet running from you. I wanted to know what happens after.
aegiandyad's avatar
The poem could be about brash, impulsively acted on love and loss. It's the narrator's love that he feels is 'running away', like the blood flowing in the gutter towards the drain. What happens after is that the sleeper wakes up and is relieved to discover he was dreaming.
WingedValor's avatar
Very well put. I understand now. Thanks for letting me in. :)
CreekPrincess's avatar
Very intense and vivid. Love it.
aegiandyad's avatar
It was written that way on purpose. It's a deliberate mix of concocted dream imagery, some of it overtly Freudian. Note how I avoid any description that prevents it from being in black and white, for instance. Most dreams are not in full colour, and most are silent. This recent submission of mine would probably go with it nicely... [link]
CreekPrincess's avatar
That would go well with it indeed. Yes I did notice the lack of description of defining it in black and white. I had wondered if that was indeed intentional. :)
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