"Time" Poem 2 from "A slur of time"

 

Time   Poem 2 from A slur of time

 

When circumstances conspire to keep you inside and further conspire to limit your possibilities then it is hardly surprising that time begins to be thought of with a capital letter and to be personified: Time becomes a tyrant or an accuser or someone who does not have your best interests at heart.  A pandemic, where concepts of Time become ever more fluid is exactly the sort of place to let your imagination and philosophy run riot.

But I have always been, paradoxically, fascinated by the corporality of time, or at least by the physical way in which it is measured – in other words, I am constantly beguiled by watches.

When I finally bought display cases for the timepieces that I possess I was truly shocked by the number of individual watches that I owned.  Not a single one of them is of Rolex quality (not even in its fake form) and most of them are, to put it kindly, inexpensive models.  Nevertheless, I value them all.  Even though the necessity of measuring time, as a retired person, does not have the same urgency as when I was teaching a timetable!

Wearing a watch, whether it is a smartwatch or a humble analogue wind-up affair, is something of a statement, although the meaning of that statement can be ambiguous.

 

These ideas are explored in this poem.

 

Day 2 Monday

 

Time

 

 

Time, like water, always finds a way,

seeps through all barriers,

will not be stopped –

in spite of metaphors’ attempts to dam it in.

But Time’s fluidity is not as gross as water’s flow.

Neutrino-like, Time sweeps its way through human lives,

untouched, but dragging

everything to dust.

 

And we acknowledge servitude,

and “tag” ourselves, not ankled,

but by wrist, with gaudy shackles

we believe will bend indifference

to care, as our constructed seconds

give significance to daily life.

 

My body clock is workable,

my timetable is judged by eye.

I like to think I live (or I could do)

untouched by tyranny of clocks.

 

And yet, I feel that naked skin

where watch face ought to be

is something just unnatural!

 

And I collect and celebrate

my weaknesses,

as watch is joined to silent watch

in pillowed sequences

compartmented,  

unmoving, snug, 

observable through clear glass fronts:

 

inert comforters, 

against the chaos of eternity.