The Museum

@azurePond

Wow, what an evocative piece. The themes seem to unfold so fluidly and at such a measured pace that one cannot help but draw an analogy of being led around the museum by a guide. But rather than seeing the marvels of art and antiquity, we instead are show vignettes of a manipulative and softly abusive relationship. One that erodes confidence and punishes self expression.

The extended metaphor is delivered to us in past tense, both enhanced and adding to the imagery of the museum; the shattered centrepiece, fighting for the fossils, the storage room with the mislabelled exhibits in boxes, art falling out of frame, and the roped off sections that are under maintenance. It is so rich with these details that the place comes to life and we are walking through the suppressed person the museum represents. We are left saddened because we can see glimpses of what must have been beautiful and amazing but has been suppressed and altered by denigration of the partner/other party in the subtly toxic and uneven pairing. 

The metaphor of the Museum also carries with it a sense of time and gradual dissolution into a more stagnant state. It makes the poem even more melancholic that this has been a slow change, a history unfolding and now we can but look at the after effects from behind glass or on a distant plinth.

The last stanza confuses me. It has an ambiguity that is beguiling. The two stanzas leading up to it are heartbreaking and seem to show a broken and defeated person. The "good rooms" closed off with signs that are suggestive of self deception as a defense. One knows that what is hidden away has worth and value, but the inexorable barrage of doubt forces conformity to a lie that it needs to change or be hidden away indefinitely. This seems to be echoed in the following stanza where our narrator expressive (sorrowfully?) that some days they forget what the light looked like on the glass. A hint of how the curator knows this is all wrong but has been worn down into compliance. And then the last Stanza...is our narrator telling us there is still hope inside? That they brush off these 'forgotten' exhibits despite what they have been told in preparation of a day when it will be shown to the public once more? Or is it a much more terrible fate, where dusting is routine, part of what is expected. A maintaining of the false self that they sometimes catch themselves slipping into without conscious thought. Becoming yet another part of the architecture of a person pushed into doubt and avoidance of true expression. 

 As I say, I am confused and intrigued. It is testament to the clever build up and subtle techniques of the poet that the whole piece can have such wide interpretation. Maybe my confusion also lies with an element of bias; I have seen such indomitable spirit in many of your other pieces that an interpretation of such resignation seems hard to reconcile with how I envision the poet. 

But regardless, I loved it. It makes me feel. It makes me think. It is artful in its composition and sets the imagination into overdrive. The themes of control and silence, abuse and it's effect on identity are difficult to read, but your poem gives them to us in a way we can be sheltered from their harshness whilst still appreciate their effect. Kudos to you, it is awesome.