On a bench in a park
in a distant corner of a city
a solitary figure sits
lost in a labyrinth of memories;
Thoughts traverse the long distances
between the days each one in turn
a palimpsest of the one before;
Perhaps if he recites the special words
in their correct order three times
quickly with his eyes shut,
then he’ll hear again the sounds of,
a harbour,
the keening and crying of gulls,
children playing in the sand;
Perhaps if he can make any word
mean anything at any given time
to anyone then he’ll see again,
the colour of summer parasols
twirling in rhythm to familiar
melodies from the bandstand;
a solitary figure sits in a park
on a bench in a distant corner of
a city lost in the memories of a labyrinth.
Arguably, one of your finest poems.Remembrances of things/people past.The tone is muted, the ambiance perfect.There is not a single word that is out of its place.Exquisite.
Many thanks for your perceptive insights and scholarly appreciation.
Exquisite indeed. Such fine use of vocabulary. Loved it Mr. Kasatkin.
Hmm, memories riding on the back of illuminating diction. Great piece.