Day 17 - "Losing the Cord"

Aye, here we all are again, say true. See us now - see us very well - restin' upon the precipice of a new poem for a new day dawning in an old world. 'Tis a feelin' that comes often, but not often enough for the likes of my own. But that's just me, I 'spose. For all the drawl of this lonely walk to the gallows, there are a few moments worth taking the time to truly enjoy, if ye find ye're well able to enjoy them, that is - do ya kennit?

Yes, as some of you might have guessed I'm being drawn in, once again, by the tales of Roland and his ka-tet in Stephen King's Dark Tower series. It's one of my absolute favorite series of novels I've ever read and continues to be - it's an extremely rich mythos with an almost insurmountable mystery behind it all to contend with. That's probably what I love about it the most - that and its overall message one reaches when they finish the seventh book, especially if they decide to follow Roland all the way to the top of the Tower itself, which Mr. King cleverly and importantly gives you the choice of and elaborates on before that final chapter. He asks the reader, considering all they have read, what would it mean to take that final step alongside him? What would it mean to finally acquire the goal that we've been hankering for for over six volumes? What was it that truly stood out as meaningful, after all - the end, or the journey to the end, and what we sacrificed to get there along the way?

It's interesting, beautiful, tragic, and poetic - all rolled into one. And I obviously can't get enough of it. :) I would advise anyone who's a fan of grand, enticing, suspenseful adventure that gives even the Lord of the Rings a huge run for its money to pick up the Gunslinger and see where it leads you. Then again, that's for ka to decide.

In any case, I started this post today with the intention of actually posting a poem, so I'm going to do just that. However, the preface above actually does play a part in the poem I chose to post today. I wrote this piece when I was outside of Nags Head, North Carolina on the shoreside in the early morning, about 4:30 AM, with my friend Nick, waiting for the sun to rise on the beach. I had been reading the series at the time and had just finished the second book, The Drawing of the Three, and was starting on the third. Strangely enough, the bulk of the second book takes place on a beach near the Great Sea in Mid-World and it inspired me, coupled with the events of the book, to compose a poem right there in the dim light of the newborn day while Nick sat beside me in his beach chair having a cigarette and sipping on a bottle of some recently-purchased liquor.

I thought about the paths we take in life, the places we go, and what binds it all together. It brought back symbols and ideas I had gleaned from high school AP English class while reading and examining Charles Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities. In our analysis the character of Lucie is said to weave the "golden thread" through the rest of the characters in the novel, binding them to a better destiny and community as a whole. This idea of a "golden thread" pervading different experiences and people in life has always piqued my interest and I have since thought about it often. It's something I pull into consideration in just about every narrative literary work I come across these days, and in a way it was the main inspiration for this work. In that moment I suppose I was attempting to grasp - however unattainably - for my own "golden thread" woven by God and the fates that has since chosen who and what I am to meet in this world and why - again, another echo of the Dark Tower series. :)

So take it for what it is - it was written in passion and shall remain so - probably never to be explained fully, though I would likely be displeased with it if I was ever able to fully embrace every thought I put into it. It's the mystery of the thing with me, I guess - that's what I love about it. So take of it what enjoyment and fascination you will, and share this bit of khef with me, will ya? Long days and pleasant nights, sai Reader. See you further along down the Path of the Beam.


"Losing the Cord"


The witness nears the ocean
The sights and sounds of grandeur creep inside
Extending the vital climate of the magician’s sleight of hand
This harness grants him motion
And evergreen breezes fade as his spirit glides
Out of reach and into the breach that lies beyond the sand

and in the flash of a fire-igniting blaze
in the first gasp ever taken by the dust-becomes-man
the horizon splits
and life-becomes-death
and death-becomes-life
an awakening hits

Where we wiped the dew from our new skin
To find the narrative stretched to the brink
Encased in the milky glass, still seized by the mechanical demon’s grin
Like clockwork, slowly seeping down the sink

Therein lies the traitor
In a red-ribbed, vitriolic, patriotic stride
Confusion given preference, delusion made as powerful as wrath
No questions of war, now or later
To begin to adore the creature and choose sides
Corrupts the convolution of the institution that controls who walks its path

and in the fiercest of the billowing nights
that harbor hordes borne ready as the man-becomes-dust
the curtain rips
and tragedy-becomes-realization
and realization-becomes-tragedy
a sickness grips

Where the instant stings the witness to the senses
Of a weary traveler nearing a mass too great to explore
Suddenly reaching for the strand, now caught between past and present tenses
And finally losing the cord – finally, losing the cord


- Joshua Clarke