Here is my friend jean wall penland's ( www.penlandia.com) response to Saba's A Winter Noon. Jean always brings an artist's voice to her work. She was in a poetry workshop I led many years ago and every week astonished me with her offerings. This is no exception. Jean is on facebook, so you can visit her there.
starting with your lines (my lines):
today as i was limping to the mailbox, a grumpy man was complaining about a teenager
last week i wandered into a fabric shop where a mother was buying material for her daughter's wedding
fogiveness from . . . GOD god?
for happiness for happiness?
reduced nearly to tears damn god! heavy crap! dark -- happiness not dark!
a certain lovely creature sweet
you'll surely say NO
who smiled at you in passing pleasant and yellow-green-pale or condescention dark grey
but no oops, i flunked
a blue meandering balloon air-light blue -- floating fun
against an azure sky bright now
my native sky where is this native sky
never so clear ah, glass
and cold clear cold icicle -- dripping? noontime?
as then noon?
that dazzling winter day ah, clear AND bright
a few small clouds peaceful airy blue (and white) again
and upper windows flaming in the sun i am CAPTURED! -- in love -- happiness is here!
and faint smoke from the chimney, or two hmmm are we moving away from happiness? inner place
and over everything oh oh, ominous over everything
every divine thing uh oh again, i am already mad at god about the happiness thing
that globe the noon sun?
that had escaped a boy's incautious fingers hmm, maybe not the sun?
surely he was out there broadcasting through the crowded square his grief WHAM! i love the 'broadcasting' - and
the grief, has he lost something?
his immense grief oh, surely he must have! something of his heart
between the great facade of the Stock Exchange and the cafe large city
where i, behind a window hiding, resting, spying , being protected but not flaming now?
watched with shining eyes crying for his grief? yours? not smiling-shining surely
the rise and fall breathing, pulsating ?
of what he once posessed not a simple loss, a death?
not really what you asked for, just what happened with me -- and the reader, i suppose, brings along his own stuff just as in viewing paintings -- well, i sha'n't forget this poem soon jn -- lv