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The Black Man
The black man waits flat against the wall.
That's what he does. He stays dead
still, then moves quick as a moonbeam,
always an eye on me, an eye on where I'm going.
I thought, at first, that I was going mad.
But then I grew used to him and his
spidery ageless body.
There's a pattern to it, of that
I'm sure. His nimble way of dancing
to the rhythm of my footsteps, of flashing in and out of sight.
Just when I think I've lost him, he returns, like a reflection.
But he never returns my smile.
Other people nod and smile; I know they see him.
They pat me on the back, congratulate me
On my find. Sometimes they look at me with strange eyes and ask after me.
What's after me? Can't you see, I say?
The black man, you've seen him yourself!
Once again I lie down and wait.
I wait for the morning to come, and the black man.
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Comment by: Jamilah - 2006-04-25 21:37
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| The more I read this, the more nuances I see here. Very interesting. And very well executed. Smooth in every way. |
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Comment by: - 2006-04-25 07:10
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| Beautiful. Makes the mind wander down many an avenue. |
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Obtuse as I am, I didn't see the shadow conceit until the second read. Now I see it, I'm ever so slightly disappointed because calling a shadow a black man (while chilling) is a little easy. When I read the word 'spidery' I thought for a moment it was actually a spider you were talking about (waiting on the wall, moving swiftly, etc.) and that kind of anthropomorphism is what I enjoy most. But this is by all accounts a very good poem.
It's the language that you use to bring about small pieces of imagery, like WCW's "ifs of colour"; that's what in poetry I revel in, both reading and writing. The first line reminds me of the work of a poet I know ('sinusproblem' here) in its promise of some macabre image that the readers hopes is only an image, something lightly horrifying and a little bit heavy. That isn't your style of course, your forté judging by this poem at least is a kind of conversational poetic-ness that comes across as ordinary even though it's not. Of course, the colour black and the references to things like spiders and death and moonbeams all make for a mildly nocturnal, mysterious tone. I was a bit put off by "That's what he does" in the second line, it kind of lets down the potential of the opening line; I can see it has its use and I wouldn't suggest anything radically different from it, bur perhaps you could take the blaséity that phrase represents and make it work a little less featherweight, if you know what I mean. Use the command you have of language as small sensations in the eyes and chest and convey a detachedness that isn't quite so uninteretingly statemental.
The second stanza is great, "spidery ageless body" uses adjectives in a way similar to the loose idiomatic spin of Williams (to refer again to him), except instead of spinning you take a long step, a little leap, not forward but sideways. Maybe you can gather what I mean.
Another great line amid the wonderfully unobtrusive stanzas is "Just when I think I've lost him, he returns, like a reflection". This works to an interesting effect when it is recognised that it is a shadow that is being described; a shadow is by nature massless and has no characteristics except its darkness, so to imagine a shadow reflecting like some kind of dark mirror is minimalistically spooky.
A part I didn't really like or grasp was the fourth stanza; why do the people congratulate the speaker? The pun in 'after me' is very good, deftly pulled off. The poem ends a bit abruptly because of its repetition, and the 'black man' is given a little too much credit as something mysterious and dark, since the rest of the poem doesn't indicate that _as such_, even though there are things that involve a sense of the unknown.
Anyway, very nice word- and imageplay. :) |
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Comment by: - 2006-04-18 12:39
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I think this must be more than a shadow...;) I really like "quick as a moonbeam" and "spidery, ageless body," which does convey something unsettling. It seems to me the fourth stanza is a pivotal one---I struggle alittle with it, wondering what its meaning is. The lines " They pat me on the back, congratulate me on my find" really peak my curiosity. The end of that stanza seems to convey the idea that others often see/or are vaguely aware of the personal demons(?) that plague us....But still, the word "congratulate" is something I can't quite mesh with an unsettling presence following someone around!
At any rate....its very intriguing to me. I like a poem I have to wrestle with. |
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| This spoke to me of a state of being or a feeling that you know you should try to acknowledge, but you just don't know how. There's an underlying sinister element here too, this is well written, and effective. |
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