A rose etc.

by Christos Polydorou

img_20160622_142407.jpgA rose is a rose is a rose?
No,
a rose is more,
it is a mystery,
how it still remains
so germane,
in time,
so yes:

Gertrude Stein
you are
a golden icon
(I kiss it)
to me:

which is why
I regret
disagreeing
with thee:
wpid-img_20140623_165857.jpg
Getrude,
Mother to all
poets, at least those
who are avant garde,

who pour coffee from coffee cup
back into coffee pot
so as to liquefy all

poetry and
pour it back,
anti-clockwise
into its luminous,
brimming
source,

so please don’t be resentful,
you, who fed Ernest Hemingway and Pablo Picasso,
probably with her very own hands,
or at the very least those of Alice B Tolkas,
beloved mother:

I am not being disrespectful
but my experiences with roses
has shown me that a rose
is anything but itself,
much like, say, a skilled writer writes
one thing, but means
another, i.e.
wpid-img_20140608_105513.jpg
he or she
relies as much on what is evoked,
or unsaid,
as much as he or she
relies on the words he or she chooses,
so that he or she is working with
positive and negative spaces, meaning
exposed and meaning concealed,
simultaneously.

So no, my darling Maman,
mother to all expatriate poets,
miles away from home,
belonging in not Rome,
or Cyprus,
your home:

but Paris,
London,
and New York:

no
to a rose
being a rose
being a rose.

A rose is not a rose
is a perhaps rose
is a definite rose

is an imperfect and perfect rose
It is a symbol
of something somewhere else other than here
dipping its vivid and spectacular colors here,
methyst.

I just found a thorn on my floor.
And threw it outside the window.

2013-06-13 16.46.33

 

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