Dozing this morning – was I awake,
or was I asleep? for many minutes,
I entered a bright and shining world,
but of my own remembered moments;
yet more than visual memories:
that state of mind, that happiness
which knows no other..
all was brightest colour:
the first Mickey Mouse Weekly
to come out in full, rich colour; (I’ll swear
it smelled different, too..)
the new craft room at school,
the intoxicating smell of open tins
of bright coloured enamel paint,
the smell of fresh-cut wood…
sunlight on ancient grey-gold stone;
oh, a whole repertoire of memories
on which there was no need to dwell,
for they declared their shared totality…
but one brief, vivid glimpse I’ll share
for your amusement and what else:
slightly curled, from being rolled in the post,
a copy of ‘American Home’ from the late forties:
against a blue blue sky, white clapboard and
white picket fence; inside, a gingham apron,
a sweet-smelling pipe, proudly ruffled hair..
a gingham table-cloth, hand-stencilled furniture,
blue and white plates against a butter-yellow wall..
all radiated promise, satisfaction, happiness;
as if winter sings of Spring;
all things were possible, and live on now;
but, above all, in myself,
a glorious sense – of ordinariness…
as if I was in place; had always been;
would always be; no other place to be,
no other self to seek, no world seen alien;
our holiest, most precious,
self-sacred moments, when experienced,
have this glorious matter-of-factness;
saying, how could this be other?
The glorious, here, is ordinary…
and back in your familiar world,
the ordinary must be glorious; deserved;
and to be savoured as its truth…
I opened my eyes, eventually;
saw no reason to deny that world;
to cover it with yes but, or, maybe;
later thought, only a poem,
to share this, give this back.
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