The Book Of Nightmare - Four Poem by Daniel Brick

The Book Of Nightmare - Four

Rating: 5.0


(IV)

The Nightworld Forest

Is this the end?
This turning of the road, veering
left, passed dense sumac bushes
already autumn red, and entering
a forest of indeterminate size.
What are we to make of this latest
place in the deep forest of the Night?

We need help down here to judge
each moment's reality. Space is
unchanged for us, we understand
extension. But the mystery of
time has increased and we do not
understand duration. We assume
the forest may hold help...
The ones we sent into the darkness
come back in two groups: Stragglers
crawl out the forest, stretch and
contract their bodies, make low
animal sounds, and sleep on the grass.
They say nothing to us. When they awake,
they are shocked at their nakedness,
confused by their plight: 'Where have
I been? Where are my clothes? What is
this place? ' We clothe, and comfort them
as best we can. Adagio music helps.

Others stride out of the forest,
completely self-possessed. They stand
or lean but never sit, they say nothing
but their names, ignore our questions,
look with disdain on those we have
wrapped in borrowed clothes. We were once
a company, a visionary company, we drew
from the same source, exchanged and amplified
our individual resources. We are now panting survivors,
or we are aloof watchers, or are we a third group
still being formed by powers beyond us?
I only know this: My turn to enter the forest occurs
next month: I would rather be a lost soul in the darkness,
or a naked, shivering thing than one of those striders
who no longer exhibit our common humanity.





A forest without end blocks our advance. A wide valley
with a tumultuous river snakes behind us. And above us
is the huge expanse of a steel-blue, cloudless sky.

Monday, October 2, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: challenges,journeys
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Liza Sudina 17 October 2017

wonderful poem!

0 0 Reply
Jette Blackstone 13 October 2017

Adagio music ALWAYS helps. For the space of the forest where the rites are performed can only be understood through the music...the extension, the expansion works with it. The problem, as you clearly state, is the duration. What does it mean? Where will it end? Does it ever end? Once we were a company, but what are we now? Are the speaker stands in the forest, seemingly awestruck, I wonder if he begins to understand that is his complete purpose. Forget the striders. They just keep moving. :) Thanks Daniel for a wonderful and surreal journey of the soul. ;)

0 0 Reply
Glen Kappy 03 October 2017

hey, daniel! i read this one with interest as i usually do your poems, but i need help or a key to understand it. as the poem opens with the mention of sumac turning red i thought you were taking me on a narrative in what we call the real world in a minnesota setting. but then... my mind went to fairy tale or dream interpretation where the forest, like the sea, is a symbol of the unconscious. which reminds me of two books by allan chinen, a jungian psychiatrist, i think you'd find fascinating if you don't already know them: once upon a midlife and in the ever after. is the forest death? but people come back... this symbolic poem of yours about a transition, about a moment before crossing a threshold of sorts, reminds me of my brief poem at the threshold. one thing i get and agree with—i don't want to be like one of those striders. glen

0 0 Reply
Oscar Can 02 October 2017

There's a proverb that says. A man's heart plans his way, but God directs his steps. Your a great writer Mr. Brick. God bless you.

0 0 Reply
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success