Niamh Clune

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The Artist: A poem by Niamh Clune

The Artist

In the struggle
to pluck Beauty from the ether
and satisfy my soul’s longing for home,
I must open myself to the angels.

But all angels are terrible.

Their perfection is death
to all that is considered to be human.
Their beauty: fierce, pure, perfect, relentless,
burns with such brilliance
as to dismantle the fragility of Being.

We cannot be in Their presence
without crashing to our knees,
as beggars of the ubiquitous,
forever changed,
burdened, heart-torn.
And when the moment has passed,
we are the condemned,
to plummet into all that is dark, cold and listless.

A vision of Beauty shows the rents in us,
the stunted, less than perfect, clumsy attempts
to clothe what we have seen
with shoddy words and paltry thoughts.

Copyright Niamh Clune 2013

About Dr Niamh

When I was a little girl (a very, very long time ago), I used to love learning new, really big words like ‘discombobulate’. As I grew, my love of words grew too, until I loved them so much, I could not stop writing them down. One day, as I was scribbling a particular word, a very peculiar thing happened. The word shouted at me, “Stop! Don’t put me there!” As you can imagine, I was shocked and nearly fell off my chair. When I recovered somewhat, I said to the word, “Could you stop shouting, please? I am not used to it.” Can you guess what happened next? No! I thought not. The word said, “I might be small, but I will misbehave if you do not use me properly. I will not tell the story you would like me to tell. I will say something entirely different!” I dropped my pen. I hoped that by dropping my pen, the word would stop talking. Alas! It did not. It carried on chitterchobbling, even after the ink had dried. I was in a pickle. I could not allow my words to run away with my story, now could I? I don’t know about you, but when this sort of thing happens, there is only one thing left to do if you prefer not to spend your time arguing. “Very well,” said I. “I will do as you ask if you will just be quiet and allow me to concentrate.” Since that day, I have been paying special attention to every word I invite into my stories. After all, a story should say exactly what it means to say and not be led astray. With love from Dr. Niamh, Ph.D in Learning Through The Imagination and Founder of Dr Niamh Children's Books.

15 comments on “The Artist: A poem by Niamh Clune

  1. Uncle Tree
    May 9, 2013

    Very ironic, Niamh. But then again, you know.
    And we are kept guessing, whilst our imagination
    runs from us, and yet, still seems to carry us away.

    Peace, Keith


  2. the secret keeper
    May 10, 2013

    Reblogged this on the secret keeper and commented:
    The Artist: A poem by Niamh Clune. Reblogging to the secret keeper. Truly amazing poem. Jk


  3. the secret keeper
    May 10, 2013

    This is pure as any words can convey. It carries a humbling of one to read and a trying to see what we are unable to see here now. Excellent Niamh. Jk


    May 10, 2013

    A deep poem I have read several times over the past few days and everytime I find new meaning in its layers of insight and truth.


    • ontheplumtree
      May 10, 2013

      Many thanks, Butterflies. It is, as I have said, always a risk to post something as esoteric as this. But I am a metaphysical poet, so I just cannot help myself, even if it means that meaning emerges slowly.


  5. thiskidreviewsbooks
    May 10, 2013

    What an interesting point of view. And, in a way, you are right. We think that they are good and stuff, but really, they take us away from the world of the living. Hmm…


    • ontheplumtree
      May 10, 2013

      Oh! My goodness Erik. I am always so surprised when you comment on such esoteric poems.You are very deep and sophisticated for your age.


  6. Shawn MacKENZIE
    May 10, 2013

    I am reminded of Rilke’s Duino Elegies (in the best of all possible ways…)

    “For Beauty’s nothing
    but beginning of Terror we’re still just able to bear,
    and why we adore it so is because it serenely
    disdains to destroy us. Each single angel is terrible….”

    beautifully layered, Niamh.


    • ontheplumtree
      May 10, 2013

      Rilke is really the only one that understands the terrible vision. And it does serenely disdain to destroy us. From this, I KNOW, he was a true mystic.


  7. Shawn MacKENZIE
    May 10, 2013

    Reblogged this on MacKENZIE's Dragonsnest and commented:
    “Who, if I cried, would hear me among the angelic
    orders? And even if one of them suddenly
    pressed me against his heart, I should fade in the strength of his
    stronger existence. For Beauty’s nothing
    but beginning of Terror we’re still just able to bear,
    and why we adore it so is because it serenely
    disdains to destroy us.” ….Rainer Maria Rilke….


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This entry was posted on May 9, 2013 by in Special Projects and tagged , , , , , , .
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