poem written with closed eyes

imaginea utilizatorului nicodem

I remember the spring of 79
as me and Bob Seger left for Katmandu

a retired railwayman was befriending Feodor Dostoevsky
later I learned that his life had become a boat without paddles
an important word lost in translation

meanwhile my name
indigo painted
was hiding like Euripides in cave
oftentimes I'm checking myself for signs of rust
every morning God throws a silver coin in my hair
not keeping evidence of the bell gongs stuck in my ears

I must say thanks for the existence of forest where
I get lost to ponder and ask
Lord is my mind a temple of light or
a church filled with bones




would suggest that oftentimes becomes either at times or simply often..for fluency.
I would also like to add that the last stanza becomes rather heavy and moves the poem on a different branch: neither depictive nor philosophical. is possible that the transition was too abrupt. Or maybe the poem requires a few more ..words/ verses/ stanzas.



I think you are right about the abruptness, it needs some kind of bridge. I will come back over the poem when time permits. Thanks.