D I R G E, IX

measuring winter, 6 dancers [hazel, zygote, moonbeam, hayden, orpheus, stearns]

Absence defines the negative space of composition, the sculptor’s relief.

Song that is wanted is still song.

Soon there will be more determinations of inclines; protractors set against the shrinking sky.

The entertainment questioned as fair or foul play.

The panda cub in China somersaults new snow hills and does not appear to be lonely in this instance, at least.

Strangely, it becomes possible to live inside complexities that no one, (if) aside from you (if being doubtful by its very nature) will understand.

There will be more agenda items to cover, examine, sign off on.

Ink is still preferable in most scenarios, but for how long no one can say.

One wants elucidation not murkiness, but the will, itself, can be unkind.

When your situation flourishes robustly, I’ll send notification to effective parties, C.O.D., about your spiritual disarray.

We’ll do the math or lunch at a secret to-be-determined time.

Expect an important announcement, something unequivocal.

Ha-ha.

We’ve tallied the courage of all involved, who traveled unchartered distances, no longer self-betrayed.

Sometimes one has to dig underneath the snow banks savagely, bare-handed, from personal languishing.

A relinquishing of representation might identify the smallest crevices of light.

It won’t be long until the hour undoes itself, the appointment evaporates from the waiting room, all the keys go missing from the frozen piano.

The orchestra, interpretive and fluid, expands the stage constructed for dreamers.

Conceptual art at its absolute best, how strange: what we are—or might explain.

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9 Responses to D I R G E, IX

  1. First impression: not bad for a girl.
    Somewhere between Shakespeare and Milton.
    (They wish!) It is solid in tone and temper, with certainty of nuance, upon a glance.

  2. Krysia Jopek says:

    I read what I initially posted (late last night) for dirge ix and didn’t like the rhymes at the end of consecutive lines, which weren’t intentional, so I revised this afternoon.

    Only four more to write, yay! Started x when I thought ix was done.

    As always, thank you for reading my new work and for commenting!

    Best wishes,
    Krysia

  3. and be it I who thank ye, for allowing such free flight on the enduring dirge dirigible numbers one through nine and beyond. who needs wax wings now? I will review the new post, post twilight, under Orion, as the day doth immanently impinge. Meanwhile, may others pay heed, and good heed at that, for 2022 has just begun, and 2922 is no mere bow’s length nigh.
    -Asclepius

  4. Myke Todd says:

    A perfect Dirge for Winter. I could feel the chill with several lines, as though they were cracks in a wall, and a North wind was sifting through.

  5. Why did they let the koala bear go through the checkpoint without stopping?
    Because, it was already ko-ala-fied. 🙂

  6. To get to the other side, obviously.
    I can’t wait to consume Dirge Ten.
    But I need to kick the cat out of here, first.

    • Krysia Jopek says:

      just three more sections to write. I also have to finish the radically different interlude [intermission] between VII and VIII and write the coda [1 dancer, hazel]

      D I R G E could be a chapbook, but I think I’d rather have it as the centerpiece of the full-length manuscript, sometimes to breathe. I’m kind of on the fence though. Thoughts?

      Just looked up page parameters:

      In poetry publishing, there are two general formats: chapbooks and full-length collections. The difference here is one of length. Generally speaking, chapbooks run 20–30 pages, while full-length poetry collections may run 50 or more.

      I guess D I R G E: a ballet for 13 dancers could be considered a full-length book since it will be around 50 pages, I think.

      Did I just answer my own question?

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