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By Mandi Submitted by iammyself Date: 2005 Dec 24 Comment on this Work [[2005.12.24.11.18.9920]] |
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"Listen. You still have much to learn. There is poetry on the subway the old man's labored breathing a pile of crumpled clothes at his feet you step over to avoid him. Don't avoid him. Sit next to him. Listen to that in and out up and down gasping longing breath. Breathe with him. Forget about his shoes. Walk in his breath. That is poetry. "Listen. It's not about sight. It's not about landscapes or appearances. In Apt. 2 it sounds like red: hot angry words, a lover's quarrel. In Apt. 6 it sounds like blue, Miles Davis cuts humidity, cools the hallway as you enter. Listen how each note wraps itself around the next, how your steps on the stairs join the rhythm, a triplet, an unexpected sharp. That is poetry. "Don't forget to make your own noise too. Open your mouth and sigh, let go of this ache to be heard. Listen to yourself, the rhythm of your own heart when it is nervous, a first encounter. Listen to yourself, the rhythm of your own breath when it finds passion, a new lover. Listen to yourself, the rhythm of your own voice when you finally say what you mean. Say it. Start a revolution inside yourself. That is poetry." I'm listening, Babe - to your words, to your fear, to your need, to your passion. I can hear more now than I could then, and though people on this side tell me it's for the best that we're apart, I still believe that there was something much deeper than even you and I let ourselves believe. Well, maybe it was just I who couldn't fully let go. I wanted badly to let myself go into you, but life got in the way. It's happened throughout the ages, but you know that, don't you? Your love of poetry and Shakespeare should instruct you on that. Where we could have gone may have been a dream, but one I will never fully let go of. That's where my poetry will live. |