Final words, or: Oeuvre

My 1st dizain

The poet sat watching the page fill up;
words, once warm, flowed forth freely from his vein;
nothing his heart's oeuvre could interrupt,
that stream of pleasure, love, memories, pain,
for mere existence had become a strain;
came the day when one thing remained to write,
when the writer felt exhaustion's cold bite;
'twas that day when pen was finally spent;
he hoped his final words would set things right,
and that his readers would know what he meant.


Open Link Night

Usually I like to share older poems of mine for d’Verse ‘open link night’, but I just wrote this dizain tonight, and I’ve decided to share it with the community instead.

45 thoughts on “Final words, or: Oeuvre”

  1. Sometimes we bleed onto the page, and at the end of the day we can only hope others understand why! I enjoyed this David.

  2. I hope I will still be marking up the page when the time comes. And that someone will still read some of it after I’m gone. (K)

    1. Kerfe,

      And that someone will still read some of it after I’m gone.

      This is my hope as well… especially my daughter… that’s why I created an ‘ethical will’ section on my blog.

      Shabbat shalom,

      1. I think she will. My younger daughter did say she would look after my art. Not sure about the poetry, though she does write herself (fan fiction).

    1. Brendan, thank you! I saw a dizain on Sangeetha’s blog, and it’s always hard for me to ignore new-to-me forms of poetry 😀


  3. You’ve captured some of the seasons of the writing, particularly enjoyed the image of the frost-bit days and how our stores will hopefully see us through. Thought-provoking, David.

    1. Thanks so much, KH – I really appreciate your insightful comment. You’re right about the seasons… I hadn’t even fully internalized that aspect of the poem myself 🙂


  4. It’s so encouraging to see fellow poets trying out different forms, David, and I enjoyed your dizain. I too am a fan of the word ‘oeuvre’. I especially like the passivity of the poet in this poem, ‘watching the page fill up’ as words ‘flowed forth freely from his vein’. We often write of the struggle and pain of poetry, so it is refreshing to read about it being a ’stream of pleasure’, but how sad that they are his final words.

  5. The poet mentioned in this poem might not be you, the poet of the poem, but I love the metacognition going on here. Anyway, this reader knows what you meant. Do you know what this reader means? 😆

  6. You have captured a poets passion at its best, David. I love this.
    …for mere existence had become a strain;

    All we have left at the end is our ouevre!
    Well done!

  7. Beautiful, vulnerable, and with a touch of melancholy. I hope there is a very lengthy interval between the first full page and the last note. Am very pleased you wrote a new one for OLN and a dizain at that!

    1. 😀 Lisa 😀

      I would imagine that there was a long interval… the poet in the poem has been pretty worn out by a long life of poetry, I think…


  8. Thank you for sharing these lovely words. We all contemplate the final words.

    1. For some reason, I had this image of words being the life blood of a poet, spilling out onto the page… and that concept inspired me to write this poem.

      Thanks so much for the kind comment, Bev.


    1. 😀 I studied French for many years in school so it feels particularly comfortable for me…
      And even in English, it somehow sounds elegant to me.


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