Two poems from when I first encountered White Daffodils in 1997. Here in 2020 I note that in writing two poems on a white daffodil I was already embarked upon the quantumness of my communicative practice.
A WHITE DAFFODIL. In every other respect yellow, Except colour. The very whiteness hints at Yellow - because yellow is What we expect to find. "Between good and yellow" Is now obvious. The white daffodil A pure perfection. Understated beauty Longing for nothing But to be left alone A perfection of its own Not a colourless freak. Flower racism attacks. But the open eye remains Bemused, calmed and awed By the very anarchy of nature. A WHITE DAFFODIL II Let me pick you One white daffodil. Words are unnecessary In the giving of a flower. Growing up a child of Wordsworth's host. The symbolism of flowers Was lost on me ere now. The single rose which Speaks of love. Blake's sick rose. The orchid of death. The first snowdrop of spring. Vegetables always moved me more. A large onion, perfect leek. A neat row of lettuces, or letti? A row of treasure trove - potatoes. And daffodils are yellow. "A host of golden daffodils" Everyone knows that. Life's truest poetic cliche. I am that one white daffodil. Perfectly different, uniquely Free from the yellowness Of life's normality. |
RAMFind out more about the theory, process and meanings - an exercise in creating a brain in a virtual vat. Archives
February 2022
Categories
All
|