NaPoWriMo / NaPoREADMo — Day 12 — Rondeau, on attention





Rondeau, on attention

My attention spans this bridge.  This
gap is a whole in my head, is 
a hole in my hands where I hold
my world together, just an old
vacancy between my stasis

and my change.  This thing that I twist
and twiddle with is still, a list
of paper chasing after folds.
My attention

spans more and less than I am.  This 
space is a place that hides the kiss
of time, hides it in every hole
and makes me time’s churlish cuckold,
held captive by all that has missed
my attention.









Blue Rondeau, revised

...with Rondelet epigraph...

A revision of this piece, 
written in early December, on the death of Dave Brubeck.  
Looking at this a while back, I realized that I completely 
missed a line in the rondeau form 
and finally got around to fixing it.

~|~|~|~|~|~|~


You made meter
analytic and yet profound.	
You made meter
part of sound that then grew sweeter.
Then you took jazz and capped and gowned
it, and with all you found around
you, made meter.


~~~~~


You made meter a household word
we all hung onto like a bird.
We all wanted to be that free.
You made it possible to see
deeper into rhythms now heard
every day, all around us, spurred
deeper delvings into our world
of pattern and texture.  For me,	
you made meter
a thing that I could touch, that stirred
in me a poet, though much blurred 
by time and fickle memory.
I am now still, able to see, 
now surfacing, how disinterred,
you make meter.









Rondeau, on attention






My attention spans this bridge.  This
gap is a whole in my head, is 
a hole in my hands where I hold
my world together, just an old
vacancy between my stasis

and my change.  This thing that I twist
and twiddle with is still, a list
of paper chasing after folds.
My attention

spans more and less than I am.  This 
space is a place that hides the kiss
of time, hides it in every hole
and makes me time’s churlish cuckold,
held captive by all that has missed
my attention.








...puttin' the Po' in NaPoWriMo...

Blue Rondeau a la Dave (with rondelet epigraph)

You made meter
analytic and yet profound.	
You made meter
part of sound that then grew sweeter.
Then you took jazz and capped and gowned
it, and with all you found around
you, made meter.

                

}--{

You made meter a household word we all hung onto like a bird. We all wanted to be that free. You made it possible to see deeper into rhythms now heard every day, all around us, spurred deeper delvings into our world of pattern and texture. For me, you made meter something I could touch, that has stirred in me a poet, though much blurred by time. Like the poet in me, now interred, still and ever free, you made meter. {In memory of Dave Brubeck, December 6, 1920 – December 5, 2012}