My voice slipped out as I slept,
taking the path between rows of white narcissus
to the upturned boat, just port side and starboard side,
no deck, no keel, with the world below and beyond.
It had normally slept in the blanket of my throat,
silent, cupped in a chrysalis.
Now it went up and down upon the earth
filterless, making many enemies, there when I awoke.
I hid my voice inside a bell, but it was only louder.
I stuffed it in the pages of a newspaper, but caged birds repeated everything.
I set it in the hands of my lover, and my lover left, cursing.
I hid it in the sound hole of a guitar and it spoke in every language.
I taught it manners and it died of boredom.
I taught it doublespeak and it ran for high office.
I taught it sanctimony and it attracted a congregation.
I taught it flattery and it was beloved.
Desperate, I taught it poetry and it lay down again in my throat
where my bones fell in love with it.
A doctor diagnosed the shaking as palsy
and prescribed a pilgrimage to Branson or Las Vegas.
_________
Music: Leonard Cohen A Singer Must Die
Yipes. Best duct tape that voice to a bedpost before hitting the sack or you'll have a lot more explaining to do next time at the Graceland Chapel in Vegas. Truly delightful and merciless. - B
ReplyDeleteAs always, original, and lines no one but you could write. I loved it all, especially when the voice learned poetry and was beloved. That voice has entertained and enlightened so many of us through all these years.
ReplyDeleteAmazing voice.
ReplyDeleteAmazing! Splendid!
ReplyDeleteThe treachery of what is inside us is really only honesty at its core. But no one is equipped to deall with that, not loved, not sometimes even self. I love the permutations this voice must undergo, and how limitless and uncontrollable you make it feel. And at last in poetry it finds its home. Brilliant writing, Shay.
ReplyDeleteSorry for the typos. On my phone. Lovers, not loved.
DeleteThis poem made me love poetry all over again. And your crazy amazing ability to write it. I think I would choose Branson over Vegas since I've never been there. Doctors don't always know everything though, and of course, poetry chooses her own destination.
ReplyDeleteKiller.
ReplyDeleteI hid my voice inside a bell, but it was only louder.
I stuffed it in the pages of a newspaper, but caged birds repeated everything.
I set it in the hands of my lover, and my lover left, cursing.
I hid it in the sound hole of a guitar and it spoke in every language.
Only you could make us feel, see and again resonate with the voice within us all my friend! I especially love the line where you taught it poetry and it lay again in your throat where your bones fell in love with it! Gorgeous as always Shay!
ReplyDeleteThis whole poem is simply deeply truly wonderful, beautiful, moving and beatific. I can't find the right word but it's deep and candid at the same time and I just love the whole thing, too many good lines to quote.
ReplyDeleteThe whole of this stanza speaks to me especially:
"I hid my voice inside a bell, but it was only louder.
I stuffed it in the pages of a newspaper, but caged birds repeated everything.
I set it in the hands of my lover, and my lover left, cursing.
I hid it in the sound hole of a guitar and it spoke in every language."
So good!! <3