Before this…a strange remembering…or perhaps…not a remembering…something someone said…distant and clear…but yet… still in the head…like it was a remembering…or a voice…but, not that made sound…something…else…a flash of something…clear and distant…no capturing it…a bird with wings too fast…a flash of light…and then gone…caught…in the corner of the eye…but…gone…yes, a memory…on a screen…that…was not in the brain…or perhaps in the brain…no way to make sense of it…just there…and yet…not there at all…frayed…edges…the scarf that hung near the window…moved in the wind…a flash of something…light…and then…gone…think of something…something…other…than…that…the scarf in the wind…small shadows on the wall…half light…lying sick in bed…noise outside…but still in the head…like a remembering…of some…other sound…distant yet clear…and all the time…thinking that it must have been…something…to name…the fresh…green, blades of grass…plucked and gathered in the hand…and her…not here…long gone…but only just remembered in the blades of grass…and the small voice…clear and distant…a remembering and yet not…just caught in the corner…a bird in a web…flickering…then still…flickering…the edge of the scarf…then gone…think of something other than…in the dark…no sound…save the remembering…of…something said…distant and clear…a voice…but no capturing it…the bird in a web…face in the mirror…think of something…other than…in the dark…caught in the corner of the eye…and her…long gone…already…in the ground… the green…grass…and her…she was told not to mention her name…not that name…to name…her mother…she…not told until long after…did not know how to feel…a flash…too fast…and then…when she did feel…a long time after…no pain and loss…already…in the ground…the grass in the air…and then gone…like a remembering…lying sick in bed…the brain continues…frayed…edges…noise…outside…and then without noticing…a change…a flash of something…the face clear and distant…the voice continues…then…all clear…the distant siren…she did not know…could not know…the all clear…as if it was remembered…she…standing….or was it lying…no matter now…as the…all clear…distant…but…still in the head…sounded…in the dark…but no capturing it…found…herself…wandering…around…still waiting…must have been something…to name…face in the mirror…found…herself…still…listening…to…something other than that strange remembering…a voice…but…no sound…and then…the all clear siren sounds…she, standing or sitting…no matter now…standing or lying…noise…outside…but still…in the head…think of something else…other than dark…caught…in…the…corner of…and she…no matter…a flash too fast and then suddenly…a flickering…then still…something…caught…in the remembering…no sound…the brain…continues…gradually…realizes…the something to name…she on the floor…the voice…distant and clear…a bird in a web…and then…gone…suddenly…a shower curtain…the voices…distant and clear…a flash of something…an arm around her…and her with her eyes closed…could not have known it then…a remembering…no way to capture it…sitting back against the cold wall…the shower curtain…always winter…for some strange reason…she…could not have known…the loud voices…the arm…the alarm…and then…the, all clear…and…never…before…then…the ticking…distant…and clear…sounded…in…the dark…no capturing it…the brain…continues…suddenly out of nowhere…a…silence…the all clear siren fades…and she…never before mentioned…already in the ground…the blades…of…and her…sharp…and…aware…in the remembering…which was not a remembering…but something else.
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Sunday, January 3, 2010
an.other..voice... (Homage to Beckett), Julie Clarke © 2006
Before this…a strange remembering…or perhaps…not a remembering…something someone said…distant and clear…but yet… still in the head…like it was a remembering…or a voice…but, not that made sound…something…else…a flash of something…clear and distant…no capturing it…a bird with wings too fast…a flash of light…and then gone…caught…in the corner of the eye…but…gone…yes, a memory…on a screen…that…was not in the brain…or perhaps in the brain…no way to make sense of it…just there…and yet…not there at all…frayed…edges…the scarf that hung near the window…moved in the wind…a flash of something…light…and then…gone…think of something…something…other…than…that…the scarf in the wind…small shadows on the wall…half light…lying sick in bed…noise outside…but still in the head…like a remembering…of some…other sound…distant yet clear…and all the time…thinking that it must have been…something…to name…the fresh…green, blades of grass…plucked and gathered in the hand…and her…not here…long gone…but only just remembered in the blades of grass…and the small voice…clear and distant…a remembering and yet not…just caught in the corner…a bird in a web…flickering…then still…flickering…the edge of the scarf…then gone…think of something other than…in the dark…no sound…save the remembering…of…something said…distant and clear…a voice…but no capturing it…the bird in a web…face in the mirror…think of something…other than…in the dark…caught in the corner of the eye…and her…long gone…already…in the ground… the green…grass…and her…she was told not to mention her name…not that name…to name…her mother…she…not told until long after…did not know how to feel…a flash…too fast…and then…when she did feel…a long time after…no pain and loss…already…in the ground…the grass in the air…and then gone…like a remembering…lying sick in bed…the brain continues…frayed…edges…noise…outside…and then without noticing…a change…a flash of something…the face clear and distant…the voice continues…then…all clear…the distant siren…she did not know…could not know…the all clear…as if it was remembered…she…standing….or was it lying…no matter now…as the…all clear…distant…but…still in the head…sounded…in the dark…but no capturing it…found…herself…wandering…around…still waiting…must have been something…to name…face in the mirror…found…herself…still…listening…to…something other than that strange remembering…a voice…but…no sound…and then…the all clear siren sounds…she, standing or sitting…no matter now…standing or lying…noise…outside…but still…in the head…think of something else…other than dark…caught…in…the…corner of…and she…no matter…a flash too fast and then suddenly…a flickering…then still…something…caught…in the remembering…no sound…the brain…continues…gradually…realizes…the something to name…she on the floor…the voice…distant and clear…a bird in a web…and then…gone…suddenly…a shower curtain…the voices…distant and clear…a flash of something…an arm around her…and her with her eyes closed…could not have known it then…a remembering…no way to capture it…sitting back against the cold wall…the shower curtain…always winter…for some strange reason…she…could not have known…the loud voices…the arm…the alarm…and then…the, all clear…and…never…before…then…the ticking…distant…and clear…sounded…in…the dark…no capturing it…the brain…continues…suddenly out of nowhere…a…silence…the all clear siren fades…and she…never before mentioned…already in the ground…the blades…of…and her…sharp…and…aware…in the remembering…which was not a remembering…but something else.
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Hello, Julie, first of all I appreciate that you dropped in and enriched me with the piece you had written on Beckett. Indeed, as a giant of a writer he deserved a homage from a fantastic writer like you.
ReplyDeleteYour piece of writing “an…other…voice… (Homage to Beckett), Julie Clarke © 2006″ reminds me of a mime Beckett once wrote: ACT WITHOUT WORDS ONE. He had titled the mime so because the content within spoke of misbalance, shallowness, meaninglessness and absurdity. You have, of course differently, made use of dots, as you said above “written in short breaths, staccato”, to make yourself heard and understood.
I loved your style of “an…other…voice”. It is really marvelous and arresting. It takes mind from point zero to infinity. It makes one’s thoughts swirl as if they are pretty lasses in a ballroom of history. I quote you “Before this…a strange remembering…or perhaps…not a remembering…something someone said…distant and clear…but yet… still in the head…like it was a remembering…or a voice…but, not that made sound…something…else…a flash of something…clear and distant…no capturing it…a bird with wings too fast…a flash of light…and then gone…caught…in the corner of the eye…but…gone…yes, a memory…on a screen…that…was not in the brain…or perhaps in the brain…no way to make sense of it…just there…and yet…not there at all…frayed…edges…the scarf that hung near the window…moved in the wind…a flash of something…light…and then…gone…think of something…something…other…than…that…the scarf in the wind…small shadows on the wall…half light…lying sick in bed…noise outside…but still in the head…like a remembering…of some…other sound…distant yet clear…and all the time…thinking that it must have been…something…to name…the fresh…green, blades of grass…plucked and gathered in the hand…and her…not here…long gone…but only just remembered in the blades of grass…and the small voice…clear and distant…a remembering and yet not…just caught in the corner…a bird in a web…flickering…then still…flickering…” And this goes on beautifully. The thing speaks itself.
My piece was just an imaginative thrust, moving from one angle to the other, mixing Camus and Eliot with Beckett and interweaving, interconnection, all leading to confusion as the mind sometimes gets so. Coincidentally, your entry on Facebook with a piece written on a real time experience with the same fabulous writer made my mind find an admixture of fancy and reality; you provided me with that. Now, my piece on the imaginative plain coupled with your real life stuff enriches the discussion in a more elaborate manner. I really feel great to have an interaction with a great writer on the other side: yeah, you, undoubtedly.
Thank you Em, but your own writing in this response, such as 'takes mind from point zero to infinity...makes one’s thoughts swirl as if they are pretty lasses in a ballroom of history' is exquisitely marvelous & reveals that you too are quite adept at using language. I appreciate very much your feedback.
ReplyDeleteJulie, I really appreciate your appreciation of my language. Nonetheless, I shall wait for the times when my work appeals a writer like you. I shall try my level best to keep in touch as to exchange of material through our professional input. Thanks.
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