Atalik's Poem: Verse Two by Chipka
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Description
“I learn from you,” Dmitriűš said, quietly and with a note of reverence that Atalik recognized as an artifact of their lovemaking. Dressed now, in a café on Hélomir Street, far from the passions shared between sheets and comforters, Atalik smiled at the blush of warmth Dmitriűš’ tone engendered.
“What have you learned?” Atalik challenged.
Dmitriűš smiled. “I’ve learned how to see that old Poet in your dreams. You never really say much about him, but I know that he comes to you. Sometimes, when you think I am sleeping, you crawl out of bed, as quiet as a cat’s whiskers, and you go to your desk and write. I think the Poet is telling you what to write. I don’t know, but it’s what I feel.
“Last night, the Poet came to me, beckoning me with his hand. He smiled and I followed him. He led me to the Castle, and down the Assassin’s Stairs. I saw him through all of the tourists speaking English and Italian and Spanish and German. They were insubstantial. Like ghosts. But he was solid. It was easy to follow him, but I cannot say why I had to. But I did, and he showed me a window. I looked into it and I saw you. I saw me beside you. We were old men. We were eating soup.” Dmitriűš shrugged. “The dream ended there, and I woke up. Páni Börosövá was, undoubtedly, awakened an hour later by the sounds we were making.”
“You dreamed of my Poet?” Atalik asked, surprise deep in his voice.
“Yes.”
Silence as Atalik considered the implications of Dmitriűš’ casual revelation. He smiled. He frowned, and then in wonder, he smiled again. The ancient Poet had started coming to his dreams in the long-ago first-nights he’d shared with Dmitriűš; he’d been coming, beckoning, and revealing small visions for more than a year. And now, Dmitriűš dreamed him, too…and saw old men eating soup in windows facing the Assassin’s Steps.
Atalik felt too pragmatic for omens and miracles, and as Dmitriűš spoke—casually, oh, so casually!—he felt the stirrings of some indescribable emotion. He found no name for it as he stroked its contours in his mind, but it gave him comfort. He smiled. “We share so much now,” he said.
Dmitriűš nodded. “Yes,” he said. “And we have a secret friend who cares what happens to us.”
***
This is more an improvisation than an actual story. It erupted from my creative pores as I worked on yet another representation of Agara. As is my custom, I fiddled and tweaked my way through late-spring boredom, and found my thoughts anchored—as is common—in the land of Agara. There’s something afoot in the city of Pekkur, and I’m curious to find out what it is.
The vague representation of the Assassin’s Stairs is actually a photograph taken at Prague Castle, on the steps leading down to other intriguing areas of Prague. I’d been drafted as tour guide by charming new friends from Lithuania. They paid me with beer, lunch, and really strong shots at tiny little bar not far from Kafka’s “native home.” The image, imposed on the weathered and mottled background here, is proof of that day, and it is a direct inspiration for the Assassin’s Stairs, which—I suspect—will come to figure prominently in the unfolding tale of Agara.
As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting. I hope you're all having a great week.
Comments (21)
MrsRatbag
I love places like this, and I love the sense of treasured specialness in the essence of the story...I don't have the words to express it, but I've been in relationships like that before, and it's magic. Well done, Chip!
jocko500
love that walk way here. wonderful image of a story
eekdog
well done, very nice art.
kgb224
Wonderful capture and story my friend.
Juliette.Gribnau
your images show your interesse in sf.. I enjoed your gallery and this one in particular. Your writing is too much for me, as I am not native english-speaking.
durleybeachbum
Exciting, how this is unfolding!
helanker
It is such a beautiful story and I think the image fits perfectly to it.
flavia49
splendid story!!! marvelous work!
auntietk
I love this little story, this side bit with Dmitriűš and Atalik. What a wonderful relationship, bound in part and augmented by the Poet. Beautifully written ... the mood shines through ... and I love the accompanying image.
beachzz
This has such a sweet, soft feel to it. Their relationship feels good, and it's the kind I want---sharing dreams, thought, actions and simply BEING. I like this VERY much.
jmb007
bonne photo!!
sandra46
SUPERLATIVE AGAIN! i love the image of the stairs, i remember them well it was one o'clock and the sun was hitting the crown of my skull cruelly! the old paper effect and the Chinese lacque red ideogram is perfect!
KatesFriend
I look forward to another piece of this story. This being of the Poet (if he is a true living person) is rather atypical. Someone so ancient and powerful being so intimately active in the lives of these two people. One has to wonder why. What is his purpose and agenda? And I like your remark, "There’s something afoot in the city of Pekkur, and I’m curious to find out what it is", something Tolkien might have said. He often admitted that he knew about as much about the Ring and its past as Bilbo did when he found it in Gollum's cave. In similar processes, your writing being something a personal journey of discovery within this fictional world.
Alex_Antonov
Very nice!
minos_6
Excellent writing again, and I look forward to reading more of your Agara writings as they appear. In spite of the very different building materials used, the image reminds me strongly of Thira, which has been the subject of my recent posts. I understand Prague to be an intensely beautiful city, and hope to visit one day.
gonedigital
BEAUTIFUL! I love your writing style. It is so mysterious and emotionally subtle. I can feel your story and it is wonderful. I look forward to hearing more about Agara.
Meisiekind
You are describing my dream relationship too Chip! Heartfelt! Marvelous image too!
DukeNukem2005
This is a very beautiful and very nice!
anahata.c
I drop out from RR for some days, and then come back and have all kinds of upload to catch up on. I don't know how you do it, Chip, such in depth & feeling comments, and in so many places, yet you work all the time, spend time with friends, sleep, breathe...I don't know how you find the energy to give so much quality here & so often. I guess I'm 'getting old', lol, At least that's the excuse I'm giving these days...Of the images I've fallen behind on, I wanted to follow up at least with this one, because it's been a while since I followed through with a literary effort of yours for more than one post. I did that in the past, but haven't in some time. (It was thrilling when I did it, too.) So I was thrilled I could do it once again. I love the thread of this mysterious Poet---made of dreams but more real than reality. And I love how he travelled from Atalik to Dmitriűš, seamlessly, as naturally as wind. And how the Poet took on a new meaning in Dmitriűš's mind. The encounters and crystal clear nature of your writing, as Dmitriűš describes his dream, is as clear as if it were filmed...and yet it's a dream! And it's wonderful to see Atalik---who you describe as a somewhat practical man---be overcome by the inexplainable. And how it ends with an admission that the Poet cares about them both now, like a guardian angel of their dreams & visions. Beautifully done Chip. And the image...it's a step forward from the last one, just as enticing, just as mysterious, but new & different. I love the red 'character' on the right, which looks Arabic, but is probably some mysterious hybrid. I love the writing behind it---I cant tell if it's Greek or an E.European alphabet, or maybe it's just a hybrid (or plain English, with Roman letters). It's wonderfully vague, defined enough to be recognizable, but still partially unreadable, which is perfect for the worlds in the tale. And the Photograph is perfect too (and well postworked). It's so wonderful how you weave your past journeys into your writing, how a mere picture---physical or mental---can add to, inspire or even create worlds inside you. I think the phrase went, "life is the libretto for some unknown music"...it's corny, but it comes to mind. (I think it's from a book called "Anti-Memoirs, by Andre Malraux, who albeit may have made up half his memoirs, lol---he was a crafty s.o.b.---but still wrote well regardless.) You're forever illuminating the words for music we can't quite hear; then revealing the music, which is for a ceremony we can't quite see; then revealing the ceremony, etc...it goes on. Infinite depths, revealed one after the other. I know from your experience, that I will have to see Prague one day. In the meantime, Prague has taken seed in you, and produced wonderful mysterious creations. But above all, these creations are about the 'city Chip'. (More corn, eeyup, but I mean it, lol.) A vast city, that. This is beautiful.
myrrhluz
A weekend of no Internet and a lot of nature lead to a day of recovery from all that nature and I am so behind on your work! I had to come back to this one. What a beautiful and sensual read. It mixes strangely with their first encounter and Atalik's strange journey to make contact with Dmitriűš. But for now I store that dark and twisted night into the past and wonder at this moment. This moment when the love making still colors their thoughts and words, but does so as seeing through a pair of sunglasses does. Colors became subtly changed. Shading that is normally lost in a glare is beautifully revealed. (I live in a hot, dry climate. I'm rather fond of the world seen though sunglasses.) This is what I thought of when I read their dialog. It was rich and full of unusual tones and colors. Dark and shadowy yet light in spirit, shades of shared intimacies, thoughts and emotions. Many of them felt rather than expressed. The paragraph where Dmitriűš spoke of following the poet, is very compelling and beautifully written. The ghost being substantial while the tourist were not and the ending of seeing them as old eating soup, was very lyrical, and I enjoyed the reading of it tremendously. Then to read Atalik's response and feel his surprise which is great and is his first reaction. Then the words swirl through him, his reactions battle with his understanding of himself and bring forth an emotion he can't name but savors and gets comfort from. This episode left me with questions of the poet, but mostly I just want to let the experience of their connection wash over me. Beautifully done, Chip. I'm caught up in the words and can not do justice to the image, but it is excellent and a perfect accompaniment.
praep
Well - very nice. My English is a bit too bad to understand all the right way and in the right time - I try to understand and that needs time. But I#m always fascinated by the poems in your speaking and in the images. Hope I find the right words here. Great work, my friend.