Thawing

Thawing Herb Clark

1

for Gary & Dave

3

Thawing Herb Clark Š2020 by Herbert Fred Clark All rights reserved.

Requests for permission to reproduce or make copies of any part of this work should be emailed to: thawingherb@gmail.com ISBN 978-1-7770930-0-6 Printed in Victoria, B.C., Canada. February 2020

coming at you clean..............................................................................................5 Diver............................................................................................................................7 self doubt...................................................................................................................9 the kitchen floor...................................................................................................11 alone in my studio..............................................................................................13 Afraid of You..........................................................................................................15 the dead of night.................................................................................................17 in the light of day.................................................................................................19 Fumbling and Tumbling.....................................................................................21 moving.....................................................................................................................23 Spirit..........................................................................................................................27 out of the blue......................................................................................................29 Rant...........................................................................................................................33 The Deck.................................................................................................................37 To Her......................................................................................................................39 Memory...................................................................................................................41 Oak Tree Down.....................................................................................................45 cousin Maureen...................................................................................................49 Forgotten Dream..................................................................................................51 Herbert Francis Clark ~ In Memory..............................................................53 hiding.......................................................................................................................55 One Step Two Step.............................................................................................57 Sidewalk Cafe........................................................................................................59 In The Tent.............................................................................................................61 ramble......................................................................................................................63 thawing....................................................................................................................69 the traitor................................................................................................................73 touched...................................................................................................................75 unbefriendable.....................................................................................................77 5

coming at you clean on the front porch lighting up that familiar taste on the inhale delivers to my solitary aching a relief from what is in my face puts some distance between me and me from stale to altered state I’ve arrived but how far are you now from my smoky breath the mess I left my unsung song pushing away the one that lights up my life for when the smoke settles as ash falls silent to the ground I hunger again back before I lit the fuse and waited alone for that smoky scent that burnt me to the ground to be with you yet round it goes till I’m coming at you clean

7

Diver The Indian Summer behind us now All those clear warm days have passed The yellow leaves are down The grey sky is novel still The rain and wind companions Bare black oak branches Against a deep blue dusk A silhouette that endures Through the fog of months ahead I begin this winter with summer losses A diver in the sky flew on My uncle left this world And another death I endure Has me stunned and reeling Waves of grief well up and pass Thrust into a long pause that lives on Stalled and lost in barren solitude Listless waiting for the rain to cease So I can go out walking Countless moments pondered In stillness I am bound Puzzling shapeless doubts I fear I have not felt enough And put my life to view A blankness thick like snow My senses numb and vacant I wrestle with a sunken mood And struggle to ward off the gloom That settles all around Yet shifting grounds beneath Tell what comes and goes A break on the horizon A spoken moment shared I close the door behind me And walk out to the street

9

self doubt as I lay asleep in my bed eyes rolling under quivering lashes the scenes before me are familiar cruel men tracking me down the hunted and the hunters at first to bury me alive then to shoot to kill they change from dream to dream I hide in the black shadows always on the run then from the darkness a fist strikes out I stand to face the brute when I hit back my eyes pop open to sudden dread in the dead of night these cruel thugs who come round terrorizing shift after decades until they’re beaten back and worn down and I emerge from the wicked terrain to tame my internal enemy me after my self

for Anna

11

the kitchen floor I made a note ‘wash the kitchen floor’ to remind me later to wash it tomorrow yet overnight can render daytime’s intention undone a wise man said to me ‘do something — do it today’ on my hands and knees today I washed the kitchen floor

for Geshela

13

alone in my studio down here in the basement a place where I can be alone a lot of what I do here is desire to be with someone so I’ve taken to spending time with myself and gradually losing my wanting to be with another I’m down here knowing all you are up there so I can be alone in my studio and rest assured I’m not alone

for Jerome

15

Afraid of You how did it come to be disappear to fear fawn on fire lungs collapsed frozen face rigid arms pleading innocence proving pain I am terrified of you vacant and annihilated gaping mouth jammed jaw what can I do drowning in sea handcuffed and straightjacketed will I ever get out of it what to do how it came to be dim memories black crib bars a broken head crying to nobody there lifetime of bloody doubt you standing near I stare away can’t drift away choking tongue biting lips burning face when you go shooting stars midnight bars standing there under the lights of a pool table aiming down the cue following through without you

17

the dead of night in the midpoint of the night I wake up my daylight life in the first world miraculously absent and around the globe safety and comfort vanished for within me is the dread the daylight hid I stand in the bare truth like the the cold and dark outside the thin window pane’s protection I see me in my minds eye a traitor to myself a life not lived or a life poorly lived amid the doubt and feeble guilt a weak man emerges frightened by himself

19

in the light of day at the midpoint of day distant from mid night loathing where expectations of existence gather and doubts solidify waking relief from a sunlit window renewal of robin’s early worm I will not hold court on approval or orient to allegations of unworthiness I direct actions of esteem do what I need to do today attempt flooding of my kindness warming the remnants of disapproval worth of the world felt in daylight choice has ease

21

Fumbling and Tumbling fumbling and tumbling I’m falling in and out of the groove dishes unwashed on the counter sitting in the chair again hesitating is a constant mode waiting on the edge of doubt for a crack in the wall to get the hell out of this oblivion fumbling and tumbling I’m falling in and out of the groove sitting in the pain parlour wondering which way is up music fills the backdrop time ticks away craving the resting place my lonely self sits and waits for my life to feel ok fumbling and tumbling I’m falling in and out of the groove I turn down chances of feeling ok isolated from activity, motionless chores pile up crippling thinking brings me back to nowhere the possibilities rejected over and over again people pushed away fumbling and tumbling I’m falling in and out of the groove playing with the devil knocking back the dark blanket hesitating one time too many it’s back and forth knowing the ropes how to do what needs doing to get what needs doing done fumbling and tumbling I’m falling in and out of the groove for Duane

23

moving get up move move up get up get moving I want me to when muscles call they tell me exactly when brain hears what to do a nerve to act stand up sweep floor shower shave make bed do dishes wish I would but I don’t move just sit here breathing slow circular thoughts no interest of sun in window bird song music movies reading browsing being outside the door far away children play workers endure travelers travel me take this hand flip the switch make the shift do the first motion that comes to mind like ride bike mow lawn make dinner do laundry wash car pleasant simple moves

25

or stationary pose it could be all day will it be all evening slumped on the couch till I lay down for the night by tomorrow’s light what will change this moment to shift gears how can a simple movement be so hard oh how sweet the movement when moving moves

27

Spirit Just in the mist ahead We can barely make out a form Surrounded in a heavy fog We trudge ahead toward it Legs weary we plod on At the spot reached The forest deep No form is seen But a bed of boughs Lay nestled in a hollow Beyond a path footprints lead Along the water’s edge In the warmth of day The trail soft with needles underfoot Rising and falling in gentle slopes My brother right behind We see ahead this same shape Beyond a rocky point We cannot cross For fear of falling To the sea below So on a log we sit The silence only broken With the crash of waves And the sound of an eagle’s cry Piercing the salty sky above As vapour rises upward The sun has cleared the misty shore There is no form to see But heaps of glistening kelp instead On the trail back We talk and wonder Where that form is now We reach the cabin And go inside How good to rest on the feather beds Safely surrounded by walls of log I close my eyes and surrender to sleep Our nap complete The tea just right The bread and jam so sweet We know not how we’ll spend our time For dusk is soon approaching Perhaps a game of Scrabble For out the window A light rain falls

29

out of the blue holed up in the house a slight tugging dread holding me back imposing limitations and ceaseless hesitating to go out and about a waste of a nice guy isolated by himself avoiding others so they won’t see the empty loser nothing to say to hide the blankness I work to turn it around walk around downtown eyes on the sidewalk surefooted shoppers chatter the guy the dog and the hat out a senior on the bus stop bench scent of a passing smoker young woman on a bicycle glides by outside in the drizzle I clear the mist some then back home out of the blue an old friend calls an invitation to play ping pong at the gym in James Bay two years now friends abound all included and over the net propelled like a jet is the old me before worry and ight darkness and strife now having tons of fun players all fair and square opposition ready brain focused eye on the ball 31

smack and crack ping pong drugs addicted for sure an hilarious rush high speed motion tingling muscles prickly sweat quick like wrists whip racquet smashing follow through great shot good get your add hear the ping hear the pong laugh out loud not a stranger here none to avoid all to enjoy a little white ball thanks for the call

for Terry and Hub

33

Rant may not feel good got no complaints what is is what you get for there is no justice in the stacked deck laid upon us we choose our truth and pay in spades fall flat get up reap the rewards of life lost or found big back spine crunched or floating across the great arc of tides and time dropping so slow or banging heads designing our fate mutilations of the multitudes like sun flairs like rotting lakes taking us down past the fishers eddy into the heart of refugee camps some lift their eyes to the blind some sit in ridiculous properties and lay lost on steel beds others breath in radiant green rice paddies who among us toil in the brain the oceans plastic bottle caps in birds’ bellies volcanos hint boiling moats below your brand new truck skidding out of the rut out of dark forest onto scorched fields you can’t remember the teenage daughter leaning over the rail animation below digital film on fire

35

correct view hear whales below your weekend plans kindness funerals whispering I will wait for you until the weeping ďŹ nishes corks out of bottles bob beside the kids snorkel come back and see him ants march down below to take the reins from your shaking hands bears asleep under a big stump chainsaws in our grip it’s all over for now friends chatter along the path bellies ache to drink your scotch the masses are learning climbing the ladder to the front of the line white mens asses eskimo wishes smart enough to hear the band rotting pillows soaked storms all along hard rain fallen look over your shoulder happy births for you comfort deserved gas prices decline fold the corner of the page kneel beside the brook turbulent waters subside children chalk sidewalk busker maidens outside a bookstore shaving in the morning briefcases by the door walk backwards to bed shift into overdrive words oat seeds in the air stronger than the violent ones who need a companion separated lovers alone at the music fest

painters brushes stir water how many wells ran dry before the water boiled and the buckets were hoisted packing bundles on bicycles smoggy lanterns way up north where the bison still roam tone deaf forgotten copper pennies stripped and stolen wire old refrigerators rusty in backyards scurvy on the ships ice age over from birth an alcoholic plaid shirts and work boots they work easily return in contentment old fountains in the public square meet him there sitting bones on a bench soft rain falls buds unwind in spring on top or below the equator look at the evidence you decide if it’s fair

37

The Deck Looking out at Finn Bay From the deck Cool and shady in summer Warm and dry in winter We talk about what is In torrent and in chuckle Moods well up Some pass on Others shift in time Minds question Eyes look up To an endless sky Blue or black or grey Any hour of day or night That deck waits ready for us Many days endured there Often quiet and still together In sea air crisp and fresh Winds pick up then die Clothes on the line dry Tide and boats in view A constant stream of motion From house to deck From deck to house This is where The lonely road ends And a listening friend Always seems to be Waiting on this deck Where everyone takes the floor There’s nothing left to hide There’s nowhere left to go There’s not a thing to do But sit and share the view

39

To Her What’s the use of the tedious Range of thoughts Inside this chattering box Simple little ruminations About appointments And groceries and meals The clothing picked to wear The breakfast I prepare Things already thought The limitations I impose All these mundane notions Really annoy and bore Listening to circular rambles The envelope of words Has such tepid appeal A pit of turmoil that keeps me In this endless bickering How can I break out Of this bottomless pit Into an uncharted unknown Phrases of lyrics insist They hum inside my head all day How I hate the background noise That suffocates my brain Can’t break into anything new Beyond the repeated jargon How about saying something Not known till the moment Something never imagined A word that’s fresh and new To her

41

Memory information not registering thoughts unretained stumbling stories silent muffled snow wounded words buckled at the knees mind muscle mush clotted brain blood can’t connect hello alone in there drawing a blank nod yes don’t get it not one to know outsider despair watch them communicate gasping to listen not really hearing sad rage burst the wall of disconnect numb distress gravitate to the corner leave the party early straining to decipher words out their mouths exaggerate to compensate tired frustration can’t remember my lines novel half read text book abandoned career uninvented misplaced objects a key here a cup there continuity denied morning lost from last night sorrow the consequence a loss for words lifelong isolation imposed momentum’s stalemate somehow engage spike interest return to the place where the thought took place

43

align every muscle chill nerves move on fear focus hellbent rattle the jawbone patience to push through slow empty hours when sprouts occur eyes tingle lungs applaud pay attention interest yourself

45

Oak Tree Down today they’re taking our oak tree down a man in the basket a man on the shredder it’s got a fungus and it can’t be helped it has been at the top of the yard since we’ve been here nineteen years the one and only oak snow on branches in winter time leaves and moss abound the old tree is coming down limbs and logs falling to the ground buzzing saw firewood for all a clear summer day crows watch a passerby the southern sky growing larger by the minute a hundred years and more from seed to sawdust I watch out the front window at the faller’s skillful work high in the air gulls fly white butterflies and pink rose petals flutter in the breeze the roar of the shredder the yellow light flashing on the big truck in the driveway there is a power pole wrapped around by branches that is slowly being exposed and the power lines break the once treed sky the saw screams to cut through the solid oak suddenly quiet it must be lunch break they’re nice guys we wondered if the fungus is contagious moving the wood in the neighborhood where other Garry Oaks still live it’s sad to see it go

47

we’ll all be cut down one day a hundred years my father in law is what has been over those years will never again appear I sit with my tea and the cat by my side looking out at what has been in a year or so the root hairs died the leaves dried and now our oak is coming down in a half a day the sleepy city yawns each morning and another thing comes down the pike and in another hundred years will our new oak we plant be there for those to see I will not be here the saw gets jammed for a moment in the big branches at the bottom the faller rests all the branches are gone and now the trunk is all that’s left the crown is cut and falls to the ground sawdust flying saws blazing in the sun the oak is my height now I see the heartwood struck witnessing the demise and now the oak is down a gallon of gas and a couple of hours sawdust reigns down all around like snow flakes in the summer breeze what a thrill to see it go someone watching it come down I hope someone watches me when my day comes to fall the truck is gone the driveway is blown free dust rises up in clouds

49

cousin Maureen your deep smile your rebel mind your ocean of will to the north in a cool forest under mossy maples and tall firs silent but for the chattering chipmunk along the ocean paths that rise and fall on Tom and Laura’s Saturna Island home the Fraser delta broad and flat the Seawall in Stanley Park Vancouver city lights at night the Manning Park campsite among the lodgepole pines water cold from the creek under a night sky where stars form the Big Dipper dreams unfold reunions and times together with Granny and Grandpa Harwood recollections come then pass these times and places we share held together in common bond our family’s history how light and easy the mind sifts pictures slowly in resting times

51

Forgotten Dream in dream forgotten in front of my eyes catching a glimmer then the trail goes cold without the words to put to picture tired dawn slides between the blinds in the end but one memory stands that woke me when I spoke “I could have kicked her around the block but now I’m old and dead” now kick the high habit could you would you come clean looking to find yourself mad sad little girl grace beneath the rage weep with me our wasted past like forest timber fallen another life ahead retirement nearby what’s waiting downstream it won’t be me that loses the fish from the line or drowns from the bottle swimming out to see the shores of my dream

53

Herbert Francis Clark ~ In Memory We don’t want to lose you You by person You by generation In the sky keen In mind articulate In craft perfection In body agile In teaching engaging In the Arctic absorbing In work dedicated In role model inspiring In heart giving In companionship loyal In fatherhood loving In marriage devoted We don’t want to lose you In generation passing In ancestry Irish and Austrian proud In history steeped In depression penny saved In war prepared In community respectful In tradition steadfast In nature awed In The Great Spirit humbled

55

hiding shuffling in shadows partly present in shy vacant mode I avoid them fingers and feet fidgeting sweaty palms sour breath when it’s my turn to speak I have nothing to say in the unfolding chatter filling the silent patches with verbal spillage that wearisome blank presence I avoid your glance shuffle to the side of the room then hide beside the drapes

57

One Step Two Step it is about time to put my foot down and make that shift from neutral to drive before reverse gets any worse so I stand up instead of idling sitting on that seat stepping along at my command as does the wheel turn any which way so I move around plodding up a rise on the road one step two step the foot down not fooling around the battle cry of the twenty first century for those whose age has come for them

59

Sidewalk Cafe through narrow cobblestone streets sidewalk cafes cool heated souls with shade and rest patrons sit unhurried a bottle of cold water arrives passerbys checked out cappuccinos sprinkled with cinnamon emerge from the dark interior of this Mediterranean cafe the locale for conversing at the small square tables dining on crusty bread olives tomatoes feta the passage of time lacks relevance people leave refreshed the taste of lemon gelato in their mouths they carry on their way

61

In The Tent From the bed in my room I hear the rain storm outside See the drops falling down Sense the warmth all around Like lying in the tent With my family A camping trip decades ago It’s dark and cold outside The drops beat louder And the rain pours down What a safe feeling Deep down inside

63

ramble blue green tumbleweed disaster wiped out decency carve the beast in smooth stone glassy summer lakes song bird sound paper cups how not why tea continues can’t you believe visions of universities tucked under stair wells terrors of dead end street signs lost in modern moderation spell shortage cellophane celery pulpy peaches cannot catch my breath heaving and stretching into the day yes they will of course painful child inspiration cold wash if only night time dishes cleaned you asleep our cozy bedroom winters end dead straw puddles capture lime shoots the first in line to burn your artwork bake your bread plastered tradesmen brawling drunks sliding in mud fractured shoulder hospital bloody bandage women soldiers active duty tomorrows teenage accuracy belch no more for trust is here flight of thought

65

the sixties only decades ago no gmo crack in the wall blinded bubbled neocons opposite being true not really blue just a smoky hue from their refugee campsite pine pitch polar drips weary upon arrival briefcase intention all the way home into bed exhaustion central air empty bellies chocolate fountain it’s all there in white and black in worse or better dress for it red carpet disbelief did I throw back the covers only to discover my aching back my empty fridge my yellow canary he painted music classes no more grasses popping pills dirty pillows fun explosions carry the charge like weights in the gym cold water hopeful dash to appointments they will surely care without a net it could be us quick head spins location location where did I put it cup on the roof of the car key in the door

my magnetic key lucky me english male baby boomer white cannot remember spellings you so blue inspire us all you so noble only ten teeth only a shovel babies on the warm ground coconuts within reach its juice flowing down chin over belly onto the beach this is no holiday for you’ve always been there for them to watch and behold this orb dawn to dawn dusk to dusk ring of fire cougars stalk the trail bears in the bush gale winds engulf the shack warm inside winds outside wood cook stove the saint pepper and salt oatmeal and toast water the host you remember now how it tasted how it lasted wine to vinegar feast to famine diamonds to rust curled in the corner digital cell phone child analog memories virtual bell hop hotel late meeting of the bored crates to unload profits to make business to run family of fun 67

but then again no home for daughter hand written letters to write rapping at the door for only seconds answer the call down the hall rabbit ears closed curtains punched in the stomach robbed blind suddenly she was gone tripping on cords crying into tears lonely all over even alone you miss the beat above the timberline your four by four partner in crime picnic of smoke idle time round and round over and over options to view

69

thawing out of nothing out of the frozen face the thaw began for my brother I blurted ‘I have to do it for Gary’ that day on Pender St after my first bodywork the spring ran free rivers of tears for years this nothing turned out to be buried despair fathomless fear stifling doubt all alone inside sad sad sorrow then melting began angular softened years passed feeling a failure again you were there showing me to keep on thank you for your loving confrontation your influence opening perhaps I’d not come to see gratification function people close paintings fanning up portraits out I came these words try to tell I want to feel deeper but the brain refuses I keep the balance a shell over spontaneous of medicine and might to avoid the pitfall I found decades ago I know I know now I cannot help fog on the road unsure behind the wheel afraid and full of flight 71

yet from the heart every cell sang in me a mighty struggle listening lessons I learned you later inside us personal globes feelings contained run free under your wing you showed a blue robin’s egg to the class and I was one there mounting horses charging the enemy full on caring doing all I could I remember everything it seems inside looking out hello out there for Ben & Jock

73

the traitor in bed without a pillow enveloped under heavy grey blankets held down and bound eyes closed brain clenched half awake yarded forth and back hanging on the edge the day of light could be his he shifts and finally stands still beside the bed up and hobbling along outside the door along the trail mute to the river’s babble blind to a floating log just resting alone at the water’s edge some broken sticks scattered here and there below skies overcast haze he trudges along head hung down eyes on the ground glancing left and right over yellow grassy hills far beyond the water’s edge a shack amid the brush inside a bed to lay upon almost defeated at the start of day but what a loss to carry a traitor to himself

75

touched I must be touched if cradling a baby pushes me away the baby’s cries turn to sobbing tears that dry but never end yet baby child adult the procession never stops persisting and insisting I be the one to get off the crazy train hold me like I never held you wrap a chalky cast around our broken limbs thaw this frozen soul blend baby and me easy like fallen snow

77

unbefriendable do I even have a self that I don’t want a personality that should be abandoned fearful with doubts of virtue disconnected unbefriendable me sucking the world dry I stop hard to buckle down then plummet face down toward the grey sidewalk unable to stand in the crowd giving the cold shoulder flat as a pan hard as a rock vigilantly guarding hesitation foggy white face full of doubt gin at the corner cracked lip the self he wants to bury

79

Herb Clark Herb was born in Richmond BC in 1951 and later settled in Victoria. As a child, he roamed the farm fields, caught frogs in the ditches and was a well-liked kid at school. Changes came as a teenager, feeling isolated and disconnected from others, he began a quest to experience the realm of feelings he sensed he was missing.

Greatly influenced by a close friend and his brother, and struggling with low self esteem and low mood, Herb worked at embodying experiences that helped improve what was becoming an identity crisis. Herb engaged in group and other psychological therapies of the Human Potential movement in efforts to overcome his internal distress. At age twenty-four, Herb was diagnosed with bipolar disorder like his brother and mother. Continuing to pursue a sense of wellbeing and connectedness to others through medication, friends, counselling and ping pong, Herb has been without a psychotic break and in remission for many years.

Writing and painting are among the pursuits that contribute to his Thawing.

81

83

ISBN 978-1-7770930-0-6