Reflecting on Echo

So the challenge for Tuesday, December 10, thrown down by Merril D. Smith is to write  about echoes for our lesson on Poetics at the virtual pub for poets I like to frequent.  As it happens, I’ve written a couple of echo poems in the past (also mirrors), so I was tempted to cheat.  But I didn’t , and the poem I came up with, on the spot, this evening, tells the story of Echo.  She’s not really a girl I identify with, though I’ve met her a few times.  Truth to tell I’ve had my own Echoes follow me around.  I was much younger then and less compassionate and didn’t treat them as kindly as I might have, which is undoubtedly the reason they still annoy me so.  Narcissus has also occasionally come my way.  In fact,  I wrote a whole book, The Naked Man about a Narcissus I once knew.  So it’s a story I know first hand from both sides, and on both mythic and personal planes of existence.  Besides, deny it though I will, the myth endures because we all harbor these two exaggerated aspects of personality inside ourselves.  Happily for most of us they make up only a small percentage, but as always, if we fail to honor them – deny … deny … deny … We may find ourselves in trouble.

300px-Relief_of_Echo_-_Parc_del_Laberint_d’Horta_-_Barcelona

Object of Affection

 

Narcissus bends to his reflection,

learning to see himself reflected in all nature;

learning to love himself

before rising,

thirst quenched,

to love the world.

 

Echo cannot echo him

Lost in love’s echo

she wanders mindlessly

among cliffs of despair.

 

Rock fall echoes back and forth

between stone walls

sounds like footsteps

sounds like his footsteps.

 

She fills her pockets with pebbles

to prove to him how far she’s come

how faithfully

she followed

follows,

follows.

 

Finally, she finds the dark pool

he’s long since left behind,

projects his fading face

onto her own sad features.

 

Reaching to embrace him

she slips into the water

arms thrash arms, legs kick

weighted pockets pull her down.

A ring of ripples

echoes her demise.

 

fs-ripples-1754x800

This entry was posted in Archetypes, Consciousness, dVerse, Love, Myth, Poetry, Psychology, Storytelling, Writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Reflecting on Echo

  1. What a sad way to end… sometimes I feel that we search in all the wrong places instead of facing what’s clear right in front of us.

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