Anne Britting Oleson

Walking the dog, I pause long enough
to watch the freshet tumbling
out of winter hibernation,
over stones, into a foaming pool,
before making its escape
through the culvert beneath the tar.

Did Jung have a dog?  Or did he
merely stumble across his negative ions
on some aimless ramble,
then claim them for his own?  
I try to picture him standing, as I do,
hands in pockets, chin down,
regarding the source of his aqueous high.

But his image, as always, fades,
melding into yours:
right arm straining with the weight
of a bucket, water captured
from the cold roar of Munsungan Falls,
and I, watching you as the words
you speak are rushed away
by the impatient stream, leaving behind
only an ineffable electricity.

©2012 This work is the property of the author.


Posted on September 14, 2012, in Anne Britting Oleson, POETRY and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 5 Comments.

  1. MM welcomes Anne Britting Oleson, who’s sent in three very good poems. I was impressed by her command and ease with language, and her ability to paint a vivid picture of a scene rich with ideas.

  2. This is really lovely, I like the originality of the voice a lot, and it’s so well expressed. :-)

  3. The last verse is particularly beautiful; it paints a picture in my mind and it tells a much larger story than the words, themselves, tell. Called metaphor, I guess. Good poem.

  4. A dogged Jungian journey capturing and flooring us with fragments of memories in a Thanatos
    and Eros subconscious portrait of a controversial twentieth century figure who had his own inner struggles of father and son issues with Dr. Freud, with racism , fascism, religious and mythical experience that boggle the mind.

  5. it is very original really enjoyed it

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