Day 23 :: 30 Poems in 30 Days April 2016

Away Today, April 23, 2016, 30 Poems in 30 Days

Away Today, April 23, 2016, 30 Poems in 30 Days

Away Today, April 23, 2016
My studio was out of reach today and I found myself without a typewriter. I was disappointed that I was not able to keep in sync with presentation but if I’ve learned anything, it is to adapt. So I prepared a poem on my smart phone not to break the 30 day streak.

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One Response to Day 23 :: 30 Poems in 30 Days April 2016

  1. Michiel Carlier says:

    P30X Day 23

    Placing a hot coffee on my desk, I switch on my computer. I feel ready for the daily journey that my mind will undergo. Today, I will wander through your daily poem again, an activity that I’ve started since the beginning of May 2016. I will walk carefully, like I am used to. I will focus on where I place my feet. I’ll listen to the words a few times, before I respond with words of my own. It’s like listening to music, while walking through the orchestra. I get a feel for its ambiance, like listening to a song for the first time. Your poem becomes the object of my meditation and I let myself go. Every day it brings me somewhere else, and I never know where it will lead me.
    Today, your poem is called ’Away Today’. I make myself ready to step into it and become familiar with it. I gently place my foot on its surface. With a shock, I realize that I feel metal, like the metal of my phone. Wondering how you have written this poem on metal instead of paper, I remind myself to accept its floor and focus again on what I hear and feel. Today, your lines are made of letters that feel clinical, very different as normal. They are big and clear and even, and your lines start with a capital letter. Again this feels off. Rarely do I see a capital letter in your poems. Besides, these capitals don’t seem to have any other function, which is odd. Becoming more and more ready for a sudden turn, your poem keeps on leading me straight forward. My feet become aroused for the long awaited sudden turn. All of a sudden, I reach the end of your poem.
    I stand there for a while, wondering what just happened. Slowly I start to realize. I just walked through a text message. I listened to your poem through the phone, hearing just your voicemail message.
    Today you were away. There was no opportunity for you to use your studio, so you send your poem by phone. Your pressed letters, your paper, your organic configuration, your music, nothing is present. Today, you were away. Away Today.
    I feel both my eyes become watery. Looking at your poem becomes like looking at your poem through a glass of water. Then, I can’t hold it anymore and my tears start to roll down my face. With an empty stare at your lines, trying to interpret them for what they say, I feel resistance in my brain. My brain is not ready for a logical interpretation of a written text, now that it is overwhelmed by the feeling of missing your style.
    I cry out loud now, my tears in a steady flow. The thought of missing your poem holds me in its grip. My nose starts to flow was well. I breath in staccato, using just the top of my lungs. With small, clumsy steps and my head facing down, I start walking back. I drag my feet between the modern lines of your poem, not wanting to look at them. At every end I look back, but the straightness of them is like vinegar in my eyes. I reach the end exhausted, crawling on my hands and knees. At the beginning, I look at your title with red, half closed eyes while water is coming out of my nose and mouth. Away Today, it says in those clear, apple letters.
    While I slide myself towards your title, in the distance I notice some other information. Over there, I read the letters AT&T. In the state of mind that I am in, I translate it with ‘Away Today & Tomorrow’. Rolling myself into fetal position on the floor, I become a small bundle of logging sadness.

    How many days you’ll be away, I do not know…
    Why you went away, I do not know…

    I miss you.


    Tomorrow’s Song by Ólafur Arnalds