Prose

  Introduction
   

In this place I present some prose.

Here is some of my early work ...

 

 

Prose by David Norell

Man of Straw

Duet for One

 

 

Man of Straw was written shortly after University and therefore owes something to Eliot's Hollow Men which I studied, presented and enjoyed immensely; and to Insight too for teaching me something about surrender - here, to the inevitable.

Duet for one and its companion piece - Solo for Two (see Poetry) - were also written at about this time.  Experimental both in terms of style and form they and the poems are my efforts to express the inexpressible.  Just as Duet for One, which begins in prose and then literally breaks into verse so,  my own voice, in order to express more than words, eventually falls (or rises) in to silence ...

 

 

 

Man of Straw

 

The laughing man of straw looked down at his feet.

They were funny feet; funny even for a man of straw.

Toes, too many to count, pointing in every direction; some stumpy, some long and spindly.  He had to laugh.

He stood looking for some time, and wondered just for fun, if perhaps these two feet had lives of their own.

Were they really his, or His, or had they been taking him there own way all his life?

He laughed again, a loud hysterical giggle that turned into a sort of wheezing howl. Ah! what a scream this was.  He had to stop, he was coughing now. His eyes were streaming with tears that his little tongue licked at the corners of his tiny mouth. His lower lip quivered ever so slightly.  Why was he crying; why did he always cry? 

He dropped his head and sobbed, ever so gently.

The sun, she was waiting; hovering just below the horizon.  Now, she thought. And up she came, lifting her head.  Her bright face smiled upon all that she saw.  The hay waved and barley bowed.  And all at once a rosy beam happened upon our lonely man. 

Dawn entered his frightened mind, it glowed warmly.  He tasted his salty lips and shook his woolly head.  His eyes found the road, the metal between his toes. 

He chuckled. 

There was always the road to follow.  The road always, was always going somewhere - and that was better than nowhere. 

Anywhere was better than nowhere. 

Here was the stile. His old friend. Standing still and strong.

Waiting to lean against him; waiting to be sat upon.

So simple a stile, dependable in this ever changing world. He'd seen so many ways come and go. So many things he could have been.

He sat and thought as she, sailing sweetly, shone upon her world; one of her brood. 

This earth, her joy.

Here was life made.

Her fertile child; the only one to bear fruit.

The others had sickened and were barren. But here things loved and grew.

The dawn broadened into a bright morning, and still sat he or leaned.

He was tired.

How far had he come?

He mused.

But all he saw was how much farther he could have gone.

Those feet of his; they were the end. And yet as he sat and dangled them in mid air they didn't look too bad. It was only when they touched the ground; that was when they made him laugh. So ill equipped was he to deal with life on the road. It could be hard as flint. What were feet like his doing anywhere near it?

Cut to shreds, torn to ribbons.

Yet he walked, eyes fixed firmly upon the horizon - ever changing it might be - ever nearer he seemed to close with it.

The road at last gave up all pretence of direction.

Unnoticed, the substance of the road, the metal rock, had been diminishing, to be replaced by that which had bordered it and given it its bounds.

Dust and boulder rock.

Without him being aware, the road gave out. No path now stretched before him - no horizon to the road - just desert.

Infinite pathways.

Parched was this new land; his tears the only water he had tasted for an aeon, and bitter at that.

The taste lingered with him. Salt and water, his gift to the world; all that he had to offer he had given.

He turned about. He would become lost if he left the road.

Then it entered his mind that it was the road that had led him thus far.

And, that he was already lost. Had been as lost at the beginning of this road as he was now, at the end.

The friendly stile was ages ago, it shrieked its comfort.

The sightless signposts swam before his dim eyes.

He had left so many and so much behind him and now as before, as always as before, was he adrift without a course.

Desert ocean.

Stark wilderness, barren wasteland.

He laughed, he had to.  It was a gurgling, dry splutter.

Gift to the wind, bear it where you may; for it may be his last laugh.

He had to laugh, he could not cry;

As he lay down and thought to die;

His well of tears was all but dry;

His soul took flight to catch the sky …

 

 

 

Prose by David Norell

 

 

Duet for One

 

I

Memories. The map of my life. Here all the landmarks are.

Here parade the main events and the abandoned ventures.

All that was joy and all the bitterness of pain. Remembered.

She remembered most of all the people; the other collections of memories.

The shadows of their lives cast upon the world.

It is the evening of the year.

The Autumn fruit of the earth alive with death in the air.  Soon, the sun lancing through the mist might bring warmth and cheer.

Like pillars of salt stood the trees in the forest; rows upon row

march up on the hill.

All those voices impinging. Their noise, their clamour.  Buffeted in a storm of emotion; drowned in the surging scorn.  Oh! To be rid of her doubts, and float free of her fear.

Where is the path - The way to be free?

A place in the light where she, only she

May find her own way! Oh please! Let it be.

Where she may seek peace, rest and sanctuary.

Where is she going, her load so heavy; unshedable.  To her home in the forest or a home all alone?  It matters not.  Hearts are beating up on the hill.

The ways of the mountains are lofty and wide;

As out toward dawn, the high way she strides;

She listens she watches, the trees in the sky;

Reflect only stillness the quiet waters by.

Always up; that is the trail of mountains.  Immovable; we are not moved;

Rock steady, unshakeable. 

We were made with hands that shook not,

So shall we stand fast, steadfastly rooted in eternity.

As world's end beckons us, so shall we tumble down,

Then, that for which we have stood shall be no more.

The first gentle lappings of the sea of knowledge.

The air gleams fresh now; rinsed in the spray of the silver falls.

Bright sparkles the drops that twinkle down. At the foot of a rocky stair, moss green and granite grey, she waits. The sun crests the battered brow and floods the spume with golden glow.

Her heart beats fast, rich red her blood rises to paint her ashen face a rose.  A deft hand to her waist lets loose the cord, her parting robe sets her body a shiver.

Panting now all a tingle she lets fall her gown to the rocky floor.

Her flesh is free to bask in the light; her breasts ride high on her heaving tide.

Her arms stretch wide to embrace the world.

Her legs astride and feet firmly planted she writhes in her wildness. Swaying in the freshening breeze. Her spine is an arch her shoulders a bridge. As passion consumes her. Her tummy - taut, her pelvis - gyration. She is moist now, and damp with the settling spray gleaming like beads upon her flaming skin. Her hips turn out as her knees bend to open ever wider the space deep inside of her.

As she waits she cries with joy and with sorrow

For a man in the sky who carries a rainbow …


II

Dawn found him ranging far from his home

High in the wasting void all alone

Why is he here away from companions?

Why does he call upon no man as friend?

 

Life that he knew was futile and empty

All that he saw would soon pass away

What point connections, attractions, reflections

In the end old Father Time would hold sway

 

Yet did there linger inside him an ember

All that was left of the spark of his life

Not quite extinguished this gem, all but hidden

Waiting for dawn in the depths of his night

 

Oft in that darkness, when no one could hear him

He would pretend that some one was singing

And stumble along to follow the song to someone

At some place who some time would meet him

 

Then shall he wander the world far and near

For some one of courage of cheer without fear

One that will save him and share in his love

One that was sent him from heaven above

 

But who was to hear his pitiful song

His moans were mingled and drowned in the throng

Thus he would travel and never to cease

Soul ever searching and never at peace 

 

III

The year was yawning and drew to a close

As numb and in slumber did he repose

Silent and still now the day it had come

When all has been said and all has been done

 

This is the end my story told

My song is dead my lips are cold

My heart is stone the spark is dim

Will no one hear my final hymn

 

As his life's blood fast was ebbing

Soon to darkness everlasting

Up he stood and fell away

The last remaining hope of day

 

Self delusion now no shelter

Wits-end madness helter-skelter

All his faith in life gives out

To utter, total, painful doubt

 

His heart at last is broken open

All defence to grief is gone

Deep despair and sharpest pain

Brings a tear of healing rain

 

The dawn has shattered the shadows of night

The gem that was hidden has burst into light

The sun has found him with nowhere to hide

Down rush his tears flood high in the tide

 

Into the breeze and whipped into spray

A curtain of mist forms that wraps him away

His arms are flung wide and between his hands

In cascades of colour a rainbow spans

 

Eyes catch a glimpse in the shimmering haze

Of one he has known through all of his days

The one deep inside him belovéd and friend

The one who will bring him to peace at the end

 

The sound of his voice is laughter again

Gone are the tears of sorrow and pain

The song he can hear is the echo of youth

The cry of the true heart the music of truth

 

So long divided afraid and alone

Lost in the abyss and praying for home

Always in hope as the years drifted on

At last each has heard the other ones song

 

The colours of love are sprung from his rays

To flash on the sky in the blaze of his gaze

Who was lost in the night is but found in the day

Behold we the one who will light us the way

 

Out of the dawn he strides through the air

The world has been waiting and longing for care

Warm is their welcome, as each to a friend

Close their embrace, their love has no end

 

 

Prose by David Norell