I thought it would be fitting to do an original of mine, but one of it's earlier drafts. I have recently reworked this poem so it includes both French and English, but rereading it, and making a few revisions, I noticed it works as an English piece too. I also thought that for the first day of a poetry challenge that it was fitting.
Language
I
language is the healer;
the messiah.
he has been there since the very beginning.
II
Language heals us but it also wounds us
Or rather, wounds himself.
Or rather, we wounded him.
Somehow he always returns.
III
Language is bound to eternity.
Language holds the wisdom and folly on his tongue,
and forgotten words on his margin.
What will we listen to?
IV
Language permeates the dark air like a siren.
Language pushes birds around.
Language. Sighs.
V
Language is near, when
Silences stalks us,
Impersonating shadows.
Usurping their identity.
We trip.
We fall. We rise.
We fall, We rise.
Language dusts us off.
VI
Language eludes us in youth,
Haunts us in middle age,
And returns, temporarily,
In death.
VII
Language can be a blind-fold
But language can open eyes.
Language is the healer;
The Messiah,
He has been there since the very beginning.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
-
Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
-
when I was a little girl I was taught try your hardest to avoid any difficult knot. Tie your ties loosely. So loosely they hang to the sides...
-
for Allen Ginsberg i am not blue. i am a sunflower of more than one color. though i hold too much water until i am green, i am not blue. i a...
-
Recently I have been really attempting to delve into what it means to be a poet. Jim Morrison once wanted to be a poet, and look where it go...
-
Happy April. I am currently working on this month's series "you don't remember anything, even though you were there." ov...
-
shake up my heart and flavor your life it is full of holes. you cannot see me for I am brow deep in my old pain and I cannot speak because I...
-
RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner....
-
when we are twisted up together-in blankets and the colors of the outside of our window- are washed out in the storm.
-
like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
-
a delicious party? a change of environment? Look at that trading in your "leopard pilbox hat" for a rusty chain, tug me back (agai...
Wow. I am very impressed with this piece. All the sections work beautifully.
ReplyDeleteThanks Suz! What a confidence booster for this piece. :D
ReplyDeleteMy favourite line is "and forgotten words on his margin."
ReplyDeleteI think it's clever. This poem kind of reminds me of Bill Bryson's writing on language.
Also like all of VII. Very well done!
I LOVE BILL BRYSON!! lol
ReplyDelete