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 (first and second poem). It’s a neutral version of missing a place.
A lock groove is the inner ring of a record where the needle continues to set and reset resulting in a percussive and infinite static. I was writing along to a record the other night and this poem emerged in that strange bardo between music and silence. It felt true of memory as well, the way something replays.
The poem collapses and reopens: starting with a memory it fades into the moment of writing and back out into memory. It’s in conversation with emergent music (birdsong and static).
With Gratitude,
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.