An exercise I give my poetry students: “Write a flower. Don’t write about a flower. Just write a flower.” Heh heh. Evil sumbitch I am. But I think I might have done that this morning. I had vaguely in mind to cut some paperwhites (narcissus) I had growing indoors from bulbs when they first began to falter and bring them to the photocopier and see what they had by way of elegy in them.
So I did. This one’s I think the best to stand alone. If I keep thinking so it’ll end Dumuzi under a title something like “Paperwhites, for Elise.” Click on it once, twice for a blowup.
Elise was always a bit scandalized (and skeptical and intrigued and mortified and drawn) by my drift in this direction (“Chris, you’re not going to abandon MUSIC, are you?!?!?”) and I offer her this elegy in the cheerful teasing spirit in which our overlapping divergent aesthetics met. I’ve rarely loved disagreeing, being disagreed with, so much.
(Really. That many ?s and !s and more. Of how many people can you truly expect to say that you’ll miss their e-mails acutely?)
Of the two dozen or so scans I made, quick quick, little thinking, the latter half come together as a kind of sequence I think, also elegy. And something about ones and twos and threes, and how when you’re close to yourself there are more and fewer than one there, just as when you’re close to a friend there are more and fewer than two there.