by Sam Rasnake
Words are of no help. I know exactly
what I'm looking for, but not with the head.
It's in the body already. Every detail,
every move finds something new — the dirt
of spring, a full moon on water, silence.
Threads of sadness in the hands, in the touch,
in whispers of a dream of bodies moving.
The credo is never allow anything I don't believe.
I've always sought something I didn't know.
Every obsession finds its place. There's no
tradition to hold on to — nothing but the dance
making visible the promise of a flawless truth.
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The poem first appeared in the Spring/Summer 2015 print edition of Iodine Poetry Journal. Thanks to Jonathan Kevin Rice for giving the piece a home.
http://iodinepoetryjournal.com/IPJSpSm_2015.html
~
Pina Bausch, from her dance in Cafe Müller
[ A video of Bausch's performance of CM: https://youtu.be/rXMluQ75k5g ]
~
Though I love the film Pina by Wim Wenders, I can't help but wonder what the collaboration of Wenders & Bausch might have produced...
Beautiful as always.*
Existential dance. The last stanza is sublime. *
So much more profound with the image. I'm not familiar with the dancer, so this was a welcome experience. Thanks.
Love this *
Soooo damn good! Well wrought words are indeed a help, as is "the dance/making visible the promise of a flawless truth." Always engaged by your stuff, Sam.
Amazing grace.
Threads of sadness in the hands, in the touch,
in whispers of a dream of bodies moving
Wonderful image and great sentiment. *
Words are of no help. I know exactly
what I'm looking for, but not with the head.
It's in the body already. Every detail,
— the dirt of spring, a full moon on water.
Every obsession finds its place.
There's no tradition to hold on to — nothing but the dance.
The credo is never allow anything I don't believe.
I've always sought something I didn't know.
Lovely. Life is motion. *
"nothing but the dance," which this poem proves beautifully.
*
*, Sam. I can do no better than to agree with Bill Yarrow. Remarkable work.
Lovely. Also, just read interesting article about research that seems to prove memory isn't in the head but cellular. And transferrable...
"Every obsession finds its place"
Yes, I guess it does. I really enjoyed this, Sam *
Loved this.*
* This is lovely and true. A lyrical tribute to Pina.
Perfectly beautiful and perfectly executed.
There is a kind of openness here -- the poem's own openness to suggestion yet its firmness -- it knows itself. Christa Forster and I in graduate school loved discussing truth and flaw. These were our directives. These were our spaces. And we liked the word necessity. This poem grasps those possibilities. *
The search finding sadness then searching some more because it must. This is essential writing, Sam.*
I appreciate the reads here- and the comments. Thanks.
Lovely. *