I almost forgot the distant sail. A symbol of far-off romance. Also another image of quietude--but with a destination. It is multiplied by "musick"--music from centuries ago, another yesterday. . . . to result in the bay, which only needs the dream of marauders to make it the richest of yesterdays--if the poem works as well as I hope it does.

Then there is the long division paraphernalia--the dividend shed, as I call it, and the remainder line--which make the central complex of text and graphics a mathematical process, or something that achieves a kind of Undeniable, Permanent High Correctness outside the messiness of material reality.

I will be greatly disappointed if no one can ever add more to what I've said about my poem. But only a willful reader will find more than an image cluster, a mood, colors and a design--and a surprising lot of rhyme, alliteration, consonance, assonance and word-play for such a short text. No politics, no religion, no philosophy, no sex, no message of any kind--unless you count "enjoy." Yes, art for art's sake.

I might add that just about all my thoughts about what the poem is about and/or does are post facto. In composing it, I basically felt my way to a design I liked, with words I liked. But I may well have junked it if it didn't so reassuringly yield the reasonably intriguing, logical--but incomplete--interpretation I feel it has.

COMMENTS

Use the box below to respond to this entry. Negative feedback is especially welcome. It will get to me anonymously, so you need have no fear it will result in my using my immense influence to wreck your literary career, if you have one. On the other hand, if you want to hear back, please include your e.mail address with your message.    --Bob