A changing of the guards
A changing of the guards, you say? Based on a dream in which formulation, narration, coherence becomes hard for the old protagonist. What was once so poetically flowing now turned to a signal of strained silence. Everyone reaches that moment sooner or later. Inevitabilities.
The important thing is to find your own voice and let it speak. Holding on to others makes no sense, nor poetry. That said, can there then ever be a changing of guards? Yes, there can be. But it’s not so much about what is actually said, or how. It’s a matter of resonance; a kinship of the souls. That can mean a similar kind of mania or approach. An appreciation of creative neurosis. Poetry always exists more in life itself than in any more or less irrational formulations of life.
Kinship. An honouring of kinship. And an honouring of the continuity. When did it begin, and with whom? When will it end, and with whom? These are interesting but ultimately redundant questions. Without a doubt, there is a changing of the guards, but it is invisible and inaudible. No-one needs to see or hear but those involved. And perhaps not even them. One is preoccupied with the end; another with the beginning. Whether hidden or blatant, the show must go on with the show.
