A Chronology of Saturnalia
came the black, dark black so black
to be a contradiction on timeless footing
lacking and indefinite.
came the sky.
came a whistle, the wind
a band of rogue dangers arcing like welder's flame
specks of life alive in a shaft of light
so pure it squeaks.
came the day with the sun and the snow
sea and sand choking on the bright blue wind,
birth? or mere conception.
"Everything is eventual."
came the Time, a winter of fun and denial
darkness and light without alarms or bells,
just the snoring breath of the present. the future.
came the walls, the bridges
what to choose what to choose
came the sleep
like rings around Saturn
whistle and wind
specks in shafts of light
alarms and bells
Everything is perpetual.
Michael K. White & Dianna Stark
Notes on the Process
Mike: For me poems are immediate. Most of the time they emerge and all I have to do is stay out of their way. This started with some lines from Dianna. When I sat down I had no idea what was going to come out. I just remember being pleased with the result; like waking up to find a piece of candy on your bed table.
Dianna: Mike barely remembers how this poem came about. Unfortunately, I don't remember much more than that. I do, however, remember that the original poem was a really terrible, lofty ode to Saturn, full of obscure allusions to mythology and astronomy. I blush as I think about it now; I am so embarrassed. However, the skeleton was there, and some of the words and lines weren't garbage. The lesson here is not to get too precious about your work. Thank goodness we didn't, or it wouldn't be here!
Same poets, different collaboration: Potted in BluePrintReview #27