Poem of the Day: “Bygone” by David Pring-Mill, Frequent Contributor

Bygone

David Pring-Mill

What mysteries will spring

from contemporary photos

once they're historical photos?

how will imagery be perceived,

within a sweeping context

so uncompromising,

so washing of detail?

an unexpected blast of light

in a darkroom

seems like benign mishap,

compared to the impact

of a retrospective…

what damning history

will define us

as people?

I wonder this,

while studying a black-and-white photo

of a beautiful woman in the 1940s.

a titillating swaying of hips,

her legs showcasing

the voluptuous ideal,

and taking it from place to place,

with propping of equal engagement...

she is the epitome of beauty.

she's been gone for sixty years,

fading,

from a state so developed and precise

in perfection;

now crisp, as if to stiffly crumble,

now developed to the point

of decrepit paper,

with a depiction

first formed out of

a lens now shattered in a landfill,

making its way back

to the silica out of which

it was once fused.

 

the photo is accurate

to a reality

that is no longer reality;

but the truth of that moment

can never be tarnished.

when you believe in the heart

of humanity, a pulse

runs through every old typeface,

through every image accurate

and then depleted of its truth;

it all feels so alive,

especially, the faces

and names…

their veracity so short-lasting.

I remember thumbing through history books

of sepia photos,

and thinking

there is a uniquely generational look to faces.

beyond wardrobe,

beyond the ways that bones and wrinkles

express the hardships of a time,

there is a sameness to each generation,

and though I struggle to attribute it

to any specific set of features,

I see it in the faces,

that sense of belonging

to a certain timespan

of birthing and living.

what mysteries will spring

from the textures of today?

how will we look

after the world spins

thousands of times more,

with old knees buckling,

new babies born,

careless snapshots taken?

I question all this,

while posing for pictures.

Poet's Notes:  I wrote "Bygone" after looking at some rare historical photographs. There is something fascinating and eerie about peering into the past.