Lock Groove Haven’t heard a cardinal in four years, so memory. Another morning, folded blanket. Tepid foxtrot we floundered — the lowlight, the static, the inner ring, our music. The opening stanza of this poem feels like it’s the clearest distillation of this plains/Kansas trilogy that has been emerging lately (
Before reading the description, there was something apocalyptic about the feeling of the poem, like life inside a bomb shelter. The blanket and lowlight and music felt like daily patterns of beauty. Not sure what pulled my mind here - nothing suggests it. But it feels contented and beautiful, even amidst something feeling off. Perhaps that’s not a wrong image if a sense of place feels different and distant.
Interesting and beautiful you use the word “bardo” to discuss the in between space with music, since cardinals often represent the presence of a loved one who has passed, and, after thinking about the word “bardo”, the presence (or absence ;) ) of the cardinal held some new tension.
Before reading the description, there was something apocalyptic about the feeling of the poem, like life inside a bomb shelter. The blanket and lowlight and music felt like daily patterns of beauty. Not sure what pulled my mind here - nothing suggests it. But it feels contented and beautiful, even amidst something feeling off. Perhaps that’s not a wrong image if a sense of place feels different and distant.
Interesting and beautiful you use the word “bardo” to discuss the in between space with music, since cardinals often represent the presence of a loved one who has passed, and, after thinking about the word “bardo”, the presence (or absence ;) ) of the cardinal held some new tension.