A printer's devil told me
(gesturing with his blackened fingers)
that the sound of your voice had been published
by moonlight on a dead crow's face.
Little starfish, I said, touching his beardless cheek,
return now to your watery home, that shell
full of mermaid-song out by the reef.
Poor Inky, no jagged cure can ever get him clean.
I returned to my clay and kiln, thinking that I might bake
some sort of Vodou plaything to give your tongue a palsy.
The waves down by the dunes offered their salt
and told me that the whole sea could be my circle.
Of course you spoke anyway, like glue-sap in a broken bucket
from a storm-split tree tapped with a sharpened crucifix..
I'm leaving this damp-match town bursting with illiterate poets,
your half-dead friends, parroting smoke from the foundry of your good intentions.
_________
for Word Garden Word List--B Is For Bad Poetry.
The sound of a voice published by moonlight on a dead crow's face is just amazing. I adore the starfish stanza. Lovely. And the town bursting with illiterate poets made me smile. Loved it.
ReplyDeleteI love the sense of darkness bubbling underneath this poem - the sense of moving away from it and rising above it through deeds and words - Jae
ReplyDeleteThere's really no way to describe this poem except by quoting it, and that first stanza starts the memorable, I might say, inspired language rolling with a whimpering bang. Everything that follows is tight, complex and to the point, the farthest thing from bad poetry that can be imagined, and yet, there is also an echo of a child's simplicity lost in the undertow, of that yearning for rightness that underscores so much of your work, and the acceptance mixed with scorn its alternative evokes. I can't pick a favorite line but ".. that shell/full of mermaid-song out by the reef..." and "..this damp-match town bursting with illiterate poets,/your half-dead friends, parroting smoke..." vie for the position. Another bar-raiser, my friend, amazing and satisfying to read.
ReplyDelete