I will no longer declare anything. It is a sure-fire way of losing something. It is the shadow part of me playing a game. Somewhere deep inside of me I already know how this is going to go. But the part of me that is turned out to the world doesn’t know it. It doesn’t know anything, not about the world, not about me. The outside part of me keeps trying to learn, but the inside part skips away bored.
Tender rebellion is no longer with me. Now here is owl and pussycat. Why? I am feline, always have been. I never know whether I am coming or going. To borrow the words of Mary Oliver, I identify with the ‘soft animal’ that wants to ‘love what it loves.’
My favourite feline poems are Pascale Petit’s in Fauverie. There I met Aramis with his ‘stars for a coat’ and his maw a ‘blackout’, who made me think of wildness and dark places. Black Jaguar with Quai Saint-Bernard was an influential poem for me. Was, or is. It still is.
I had a dream the other night, and when I woke up I wrote: ‘I was nuzzled by a black leopard and called her mother.’ I had felt like a visitation, except I no longer believe in such things. That is the owl part of me: my incessant mind, the chattering voice, the cold analysis of everything I love.
Dear Hindsight,
We’re tired of your subterfuge.
Excuse me, but we think
you can no longer see the wood for the trees.
I wrote these opening lines to a poem I titled The owl of Minerva takes its flight only when the shades of night are gathering. It was inspired by Hegel, with whom I disagree.
I think I have shared it here before, but I have many new readers, so here it is again:
I had a dream the other night, and I wrote this poem:
Just look at the dynamic between the cowered kitten and the perching owl in the cropped detail of Louis Wain’s Cat’s Nightmare. You’re seeing inside my person.
“I have not often existed in the eyes of others, / because they didn’t see me how I see myself” rang through me like a bell; I love the way it contains disappointment and apathy and pride. We are far too slippery, even to ourselves, for names to settle on us for long. Sleek as the mother panther I might dream of if my mind were less addled by the overworld. It’s you who introduced me to Aramis and I’m eternally grateful for that! And how great to know that the new name has more Wain in it than Lear! Love him.
I'm learning it's better to flow with things. When I make declarations, they tend to keep me rooted in something I may not fit into anymore. I'm trying to go with said flow. I love your dream poem.