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Addiction
A ripple imperceptible, like hints
of amber in the tiring balsams, swells
to waves of apprehension, then imprints
a vision on my mind, with carousels
of pirouetting bronze bouquets that plead
for my attention with a fiery spin,
a touch-me-not exploding into seed,
a symphony of reed and violin.
As crippled prey, I cringe before the beast:
its moist and fuming breath and flaxen skin
invite me to a Bacchanalian feast,
the blending of our spirits to begin.
Descent is rapid, sheathed in ecstasy,
devoid of sentiment and certainty.
~
The darkness has returned, reflections faint
and grinning like a spectral carnival
illusion twisting from its glass restraint
and in the next bewitching interval
transforming into sheets of wind on stones
across a riverbed; through clearing air
appears the putrid chalky white of bones
enclasped around the edges of my chair.
~
Awakened, I am cradled by the roar
of hissing silence, till it dissipates
like shards of vapor on a restless shore.
And as the brooding day anticipates
our rendezvous, I curse the parasites
returning to indulge their appetites.
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First Published in The Orchards Poetry Journal, Winter 2022
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Paul Buchheit is an author of books, poems, progressive essays, and scientific journal articles. He recently completed his first historical novel, 1871: Rivers on Fire. His poetry has appeared in The Lyric, Illinois State Poetry Society, Poets & Patrons of Chicagoland, Maria W. Faust Sonnet Contest, Society of Classical Poets, and other publications.
A veritable smorgasbord of language, glittering with strange imagery. But this is also what the troubadours or their dolce stil nuovo followers would have called “trobar clus,” or “closed work,” which means that it is deliberately composed in such a way as to be mysterious, and in some places impenetrable.
What precisely is the “addiction” to which the title refers? A few things in the first sonnet suggest something sexual (“Its moist and fuming breath and flaxen skin / invite me to a Bacchanalian feast, / the blending of our spirits to begin”). The line “a touch-me-not exploding into seed” seems deeply erotic, since it combines a “Noli me tangere” teasing with male ejaculation. I leave “sheathed in ecstasy” to the imagination.
The second sonnet (which I don’t think should be typographically divided as it is) seems to be an expression of remorse over the fall into indulgence that the first sonnet might be describing.
There are quite a few deliberately riddling turns (“the roar of hissing silence,” “shards of vapor,” “putrid chalky white of bones,” “pirouetting bronze bouquets”). We don’t expect silence to roar, or vapor to seem like broken shards, or for bones that are white and chalky to still have a putrid smell, or for bouquets to be made of bronze. But these are exactly the kind of strange concatenations that the poets who did “trobar clus” liked to create.
Thanks for your review, Joseph. I’m honored to have such a thorough reading and learned analysis.
Your use of language intrigues me, Paul. Each word seems to have an alternate reality and, like an Impressionist painting the whole combines to be much more than its parts. To me, this is what poetry truly is.
Thank you, Sally. I appreciate the kind words!
I really liked your poem Paul. Could it be based on a dream? I loved the way all of the words sounded as I read them out loud. Thank you for this very interesting read.
You’re welcome, Norma, and thanks for the compliment!
Very intriguing imagery and metaphors about the hallucinatory descent to being crippled by the beast. It isn’t easy to interpret personal hallucinations, but the pain is obvious, despite the ecstasy. I recall the term, the “silence is deafening” so the roar of silence is a relatable metaphor to me. I found the last three lines the most obvious revelation, a rendezvous anticipated feared by the return of the “parasites”. Much to ponder here, where normal things like “fog” becomes shards, as, hallucinatory visions can often be painful. Poignant and painful, well done.
Thanks for the interesting comments, g.Kaye!
Yes, the language is beautiful and compels me to
keep reading. Have done so twice and will no doubt again.
Thanks, JD!
Paul, I am an instant fan of this admirably crafted poem – a poem whose words take my breath away with their sensory appeal and colorful imagery. I can smell and taste the words… which for me hinted at the seduction of alcohol… the waves of amber, the bronze bouquet, the fiery spin… the ” Bacchanalian feast, / the blending of our spirits”… ‘sheets of wind’. It reminds me of the ecstasy, the agony of a hangover, the constant drain on the ability to function… “parasites /returning to indulge their appetites.”
Whatever the addiction may be, I love it. I’m addicted too… to your words that is. Very well done indeed!
Susan, wow, thanks for your words of praise….so very much appreciated!
Paul, I’m intrigued by your color choices here. They are all in the brown/yellow range, even when we get down to the last mention of color in “putrid chalky white.” This is unlike the psychedelic rainbows drug users sometimes employ to depict their unreal visions. The browning and yellowing of sight is what happens when cataracts form. I know one painter who, after having simple surgery to remove cataracts, was shocked at the garish colors she had used when she couldn’t see naturally. She was overcompensating to create what she thought were normal-looking pictures. Maybe you are doing something similar, showing us how the fog of addiction applies a dull tinge to the brighter and more beautiful world that can be seen upon recovery.
Thanks for your interesting comments, Margaret. I was definitely going for the dulling of senses.