Ginger and Michael Marcinkowski
I do love long and complicated sentences,
stuffed with clauses and dependent clauses,
and all strung together like a spider’s web,
an enormous web with silvery threads that glisten
with dew drops in the early morning sun that
blanches them, turning them white, and look,
there’s a little fly caught in this one, trapped
by his own struggles, and struggling even more
as the spider emerges, advances towards his prey,
soon to be his breakfast, or lunch, if he lets his victim
stew in the poisons soon to be injected, and look,
dew drops are falling as web shakes, and threads
tremble, and the dark and seamier side of life
emerges with its stark, black lines, from beneath
the advertising mask of glorious beauty that distorts
reality, as the spider turns into an assassin and the fly
into his victim, and yes, each of us must choose whether
to be an assassin or a victim, meurtrier ou victime,
as Camus phrases it in one of his books, L’Étranger,
though I read it so long ago, when I was a teenager,
studying French in school, and that was one of the books
I chose to read, but I was never labelled, meurtrier or
victime, just trouble-maker, first class, because I didn’t,
wouldn’t, couldn’t tow the official line and kow-tow
to a rigid authority, that walked set lines, like this spider,
the meurtrier, who turned that fly into his victime, and I,
I who could so easily become either, became neither,
but merely the observer, who stands on the outside,
looking in, and watching as the show goes on and on,
year after year, seculae seculorum, world without end,
and yes, the English Master told me never to mix
metaphors, nor to add foreign languages to my poems,
but what if they are not foreign to me, but a part of my being,
as part of the spider’s being is to be a meurtrier, and as for
that fly, well, he is the victime, in whichever language you use,
and yes, this poem is only one sentence, and I love it, amen.
6 thoughts on “Spider Web”
Merci bien, mon ami! D’ici, le N-B, la seule province bilingue au Canada!
Yes – though I keep waiting for Québec.
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Like a London double-decker bus, Dale. You wait for one, and then, an hour later, six come along.
We are humbled, Roger! This poem was wonderful to read and quite fun! You always add such life lessons as well! Great job and a good exercise in train of thought works!
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I had such fun writing it. It all started with that casual comment when I e-mailed you, and it grew from there. I am still laughing at it, and have been playing it all day. The pause in the reading is when I lost my place and couldn’t find it for a couple of seconds. I thought of re-recording, but thought that the original, flaws and all, was worth keeping. Such joy!!!!