This poem was inspired by Close Up (1990), an Iranian film written, directed and edited by Abbas Kiarostami. The film recounts the true story of a man who pretends to be a famous Iranian film director. Does he do this to defraud people out of their money? Or to escape his own life? Or just because he loves cinema so much? You’ll have to watch the film to find out. Close Up includes real footage from the man’s trial, as well as reconstructed scenes, featuring all the people who were involved. Con artists are very fashionable at the moment, and I’ve also just finished reading House of Leaves, so the poem gets a bit labyrinth-y, a bit minotaur-y here and there too.
#14 – Walking backwards into air
A man can be accused of minor flaws:
of indiscretion when his temper flares,
of walking backwards, slow, into the air,
of leaving all his guts upon the floor.
On sultry nights, a cold frustration flares:
I cannot stand myself a moment more!
I am the maze; I am the minotaur.
Identities ephemeral as air.
One person ends, another one begins,
with prospects now as wide and blue as sky,
an echo of the pure and the profane.
And, when that life’s coherence starts to thin,
an alter-ego lands, a subtle lie,
and suddenly the world is new again!
LM
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| Image via Wikipedia |
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