The poem is very beautiful.
The gestures of speaking/remembering/forgetting.
Pauses.
Scratches.
gaps.
She adjusts her skirt.
She fiddles with her fingers.
She looks with great and sincere interest.
She thinks.
I don’t remember. I can’t quite remember. When was it? I am not sure now.
Did I?
Did you?
Were you?
She cleans her glasses without missing a beat.
She searches for the right answer. the true answer, and the answer he wants to hear.
She checks if it is the true answer.
She searches again.
Good Lord!
My Godfather! I’ll have to think that one out…
—
A man moves in the space with the innocence of an infant. He fidgets, plays, fold, unfolds, impatient for something to happen.
There are little moves, fast moves,
then there is a beatific, joyous opening, slow, floating-
this change is the change from one state of attention (little flurry of activity, like a little creature, busy and anxious) to another state of attention- revelling, open, breathing open air, in the moment, a ‘top of the mountain’ state.
Does this change as we grow older or is it modified by activity and vocabulary only?
Who is the man moving?
Is he real? Or is he in someon’e memory?
Is he always stuck in a moment in time, before being born or just after being born?
Is this the memory or the feeling about him? Like in the poem.
it’s a beautiful poem. It rings so true.
The savouring, the cherishing is so clear in it. The quiet and absolute delight.
postedbybagryana
