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Soul-Mate Soon Forgotten

September 29, 2016

I don’t think I have any substance to follow up the title of this post, unless I think of something before I end it. Neither soul-mates nor forgetting hold any interest for me at the moment, but it seemed like a good phrase, a suitable title for something. “Soon” is interesting. The quality of soonfulness, the sonority of “soon”, the modest beauty of it. It is a good word to meditate on. Don’t think about time, time won’t get you anywhere, but soon can be a revelation. You can feel the flow of things in soon. All promise and all sadness. Soon. Soon enough.

Now, as I write and pause from writing, I am getting some good things from soon. They haven’t all arrived yet, there is a haze in the middle distance, but I feel sure that before long soon will make me its adept, reveal itself, turn in my mind like a planet or most longed-for someone, and I will know. And then I may have things to tell you, not like now. Just wait.

‘Soul-mate soon forgotten’ also makes me think of a poem by Louis MacNeice, itself about love and time and the holding of the one in the other or the letting go, but in a very different way:

Meeting Point

Time was away and somewhere else,
There were two glasses and two chairs
And two people with the one pulse
(Somebody stopped the moving stairs)
Time was away and somewhere else.

And they were neither up nor down;
The stream’s music did not stop
Flowing through heather, limpid brown,
Although they sat in a coffee shop
And they were neither up nor down.

The bell was silent in the air
Holding its inverted poise –
Between the clang and clang a flower,
A brazen calyx of no noise:
The bell was silent in the air.

The camels crossed the miles of sand
That stretched around the cups and plates;
The desert was their own, they planned
To portion out the stars and dates:
The camels crossed the miles of sand.

Time was away and somewhere else.
The waiter did not come, the clock
Forgot them and the radio waltz
Came out like water from a rock:
Time was away and somewhere else.

Her fingers flicked away the ash
That bloomed again in tropic trees:
Not caring if the markets crash
When they had forests such as these,
Her fingers flicked away the ash.

God or whatever means the Good
Be praised that time can stop like this,
That what the heart has understood
Can verify in the body’s peace
God or whatever means the Good.

Time was away and she was here
And life no longer what it was,
The bell was silent in the air
And all the room one glow because
Time was away and she was here.

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