‘a little bit’ stuart crowther
http://bencilkimyon.tumblr.com/post/23863963734/a-little-bit-stuart-crowther
after you were mine,
I wondered what happened
after you were mine.
but.no.
not mine.
not a shrewd as belonging, not as finite as possession-
rather I
borrowed you for a while,
but
less like the replacement for some faulty appliance
more like a treasured acquisition - a tome,
housed in a library somewhere I’ll never visit but might think of
on some idle morning as the kettle boils and
letters drop forlornly to the mat
and I catch myself…sometimes…I’m
thinking - on a rainy weekend or a broken tuesday
which seems fit for little else -
wondering where you are, and who’s borrowed you now
who’s inhaling the scent of your pages and adding a
sentence or two.
in a cursive script,
much neater than mine.
i remember the shape of you, sketch the illustration, but blur the edges
imagine a technicolor version where there was really
only a limited palate
as limited as my own
at the time.
but we painted each other in primary tones,
stuck to the lines,
caring nothing for the shades and the scribbles that would follow with time
and with age.
i kept you intact for a while,
painstakingly guarding your covers then
passed you on
a good sport
to someone else, who could decipher your wisdom,
a specialist in text I couldn’t read any more
after you are mine,
I wondered.
who you’d lend yourself to
and hoped his hands were clean.
COMMENT: I came across this video on Youtube, then searched for this poem which appears at the end of the video. The poem struck me very intensely. I am not much for poetry, but sometimes a poem (or a song, or a video, or other piece of art) just hits the mark about how you feel or think about something that is happening or has happened in your life. For me, this immediately evoked my feelings about Sam and the new bloke to whom he has 'lent' himself. I hope that bloke realizes how lucky is he. I knew how lucky was I when I, "borrowed" Sam for a time.
At least, that is what THIS DADDY thinks.
after you were mine,
I wondered what happened
after you were mine.
but.no.
not mine.
not a shrewd as belonging, not as finite as possession-
rather I
borrowed you for a while,
but
less like the replacement for some faulty appliance
more like a treasured acquisition - a tome,
housed in a library somewhere I’ll never visit but might think of
on some idle morning as the kettle boils and
letters drop forlornly to the mat
and I catch myself…sometimes…I’m
thinking - on a rainy weekend or a broken tuesday
which seems fit for little else -
wondering where you are, and who’s borrowed you now
who’s inhaling the scent of your pages and adding a
sentence or two.
in a cursive script,
much neater than mine.
i remember the shape of you, sketch the illustration, but blur the edges
imagine a technicolor version where there was really
only a limited palate
as limited as my own
at the time.
but we painted each other in primary tones,
stuck to the lines,
caring nothing for the shades and the scribbles that would follow with time
and with age.
i kept you intact for a while,
painstakingly guarding your covers then
passed you on
a good sport
to someone else, who could decipher your wisdom,
a specialist in text I couldn’t read any more
after you are mine,
I wondered.
who you’d lend yourself to
and hoped his hands were clean.
COMMENT: I came across this video on Youtube, then searched for this poem which appears at the end of the video. The poem struck me very intensely. I am not much for poetry, but sometimes a poem (or a song, or a video, or other piece of art) just hits the mark about how you feel or think about something that is happening or has happened in your life. For me, this immediately evoked my feelings about Sam and the new bloke to whom he has 'lent' himself. I hope that bloke realizes how lucky is he. I knew how lucky was I when I, "borrowed" Sam for a time.
At least, that is what THIS DADDY thinks.
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