I accidentaly had knowledge about what blue light meant because of a tragic incident detailed in newspapers about miners who became trapped in a collapsed portion of a mine.
At least I had one up there. I can't however connect "old cave of calcium" to a womb or anything to do with bearing children.
I may or may not change my first impressions of this--please excuse my slowness, I was never any good at this in school. I was embarrassed and ashamed of my thoughts because everyone else seemed to know what they were talking about but me! Nothing much has changed since then, lol. But I wantto be a part of the action too
Here goes.
Back to the title again--but it just amazes me. I was
thinking Christmas (which really isn't way off in the
larger scheme of things...what a gift this child brings), then the Nursery Rhyme came to mind (Jack Jumped Over the Candlestick) so I assumed this
has something to do with a child.
I am miner. The light burns blue.
Waxy stalctites
Drip and thicken, tears
The earthen womb
Exudes from its dead boredom.
Black bat airs It's apparent from these first few lines
that there is an aura of dark emptiness--coming from the earth--things happen in life to create deep
and surrounding sorrows of mind and body. Things
we see, things that are done to us, things we do to
ourselves. Surrounds her(N). Emptiness, barreness.
I see the black bat airs to be frightening,
a scary sort of thing .
Must be a very scary place she is, within.
Wrap me, raggy shawls,
Cold homicides.
They weld to me like plums.
The place is obviously poverty stricken, nothing there to
find to keep warm. We don't give our children raggy shawls to wear, but someone or something has given them to her. I think cold means callous here. I'm not sure I like the image of the plums, but they are purple like bruises--but do you find them in a mine? (I guess this one).
Old cave of calcium
Icicles, old echoer.
Even the newts are white,
I don't really get this part, except it alludes to
the emptiness, or depths or heights
of something where you would find/hear an echo.
What/who is the old echoer--would that mean "someone who creates an echo"? Like a bible,
for instance? It's yelling prophesies, about how we
should live our lives, and our mimicking of them? A pretentious holiness (white newts)
Those holy Joes.
And the fish, the fish--
Christ! They are panes of ice,
I see the multiplying of the loaves--a second time I see
the bible. I don't really sense anger, but more of sarcasm here. I think the N is talking about hypocrits!
A vice of knives,
A piranha
Religion, drinking Its first Communion out of my live toes.
The candle
Gulps and recovers its small altitude.
The sarcasm continues--I like the sort of dual play
here in L1--you can read it two ways! I wonder
why she chose toes? Interesting, ironic, too, that anything considered 'holy' she considers vice!
I think nas has influenced my thoughts about the candle--but I think I agree about the fragile state of this candle. I wonder if the baby lives--her son lives?
Its yellows hearten.
O love, how did you get here?
O embryo I love this stanza. ITs echo is far-reaching. The love
between mother and child--there is no greater love than
that love. That's what I see here. How happy this must
make the N that the "yellows hearten".
Remembering, even in sleep,
Your crossed position
The blood blooms clean
It's an interesting take ( star-crossed lovers)--but I hope that isn't true. I didn't see it that way, but yet again, I'm seeing an innocent suffering, like Jesus on the cross (crossed position).
In you, ruby.
The pain
You wake to is not yours.
The baby must bear any inclement conditions
because it depends on the womb for its own life.
Love, love,
I have hung our cave with roses.
With soft rugs--
Her love for him is a tender love (warmth, no raggy shawls)
not cold, fake like the world has to offer, has offered
her.
The last of Victoriana.
Let the stars
Plummet to their dark address,
Nothing but the finest for this child...nothing but the finest
IS this child. The love between them is so solid that
the end of the world could not crumble the bond.
Let the mercuric
Atoms that cripple drip
Into the terrible well,
I'm hearing this awful echoing again--the drip,
drip, drip of a poison that causes this maming or death
of a whole or facet of a whole?
You are the one
Solid the spaces lean on, envious.
You are the baby in the barn.
Dark, empty places need the light of love, if
only to lean on. The world needs this kind of mother's love,
the world needs a child's love....the forebearing kind....the kind that is envied by those who can't for some reason or another possess it.
I don't know. This is as far as I got today.