In Hibernation, absence from consciousness, and in the second poem, In Grace, absence from the familiar, rational world that we take for granted.
There was no deliberate decision on my part to pursue this theme but, coincidentally, I now find myself featuring another poem that touches on the subject.
The companion pieces, Lazarus and Lazarus Wakes were written back-to-back. The former relates to the absence from consciousness during an epileptic seizure and, in Lazarus Wakes, the moment of emergence from that unimaginable place where sufferers go to during an attack.
Both poems were written with a much-loved family member in mind.
One of them is published below.
After the doze, my puppet parts
hesitate to reassemble.
Arms and legs go
north south east west.
Head’s wrong: the room seems upside down.
I sprawl, unravelled, swing-strings slack:
no guiding hand animates me.
I slouch here, apathetic, mute.
a ceiling-light becomes
electric sun surrounded by
anxious faces, whirling planets.