On reading a review of a Norton lecture
Think of arms, wrists, hands, fingers
erasing the dark to let in more light.
Then you can do something unforgiving
to dead words traveling the thick black lines
on paper: smudge everything with the hush
of the artist's gestures. The first sentence
without fire, without oxygen in its voice,
rendered in double negation, at odds with
the ornamented images you draw in calligraphy
to get at what is hidden, does not answer
the puzzle of what makes blossoms prized
objects, even when they balk, refusing to come
out. Inside every riddle is understanding:
we cannot pull the chest ache close enough
to experience escapes from gravity. Unfolding
the creation of a poem is an art form, revealing
disparate strands of days when the ink presents
itself, waiting for instruction, our own translation.
© 2012 Maureen E. Doallas
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This is another example of a "found poem"; each word used is taken from this review of artist William Kentridge, Norton Lecturer this year at Harvard. Other "found poems" of mine can be read here and here.
For an explanation of "found poem", go here. Also see The Found Poetry Review, a quarterly that celebrate found poetry, centos, erasure poems, and other forms incorporating elements of existing texts.
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9 comments:
Unfolding
the creation of a poem is an art form...true that..and honestly i always measure the worth of crit by who gives it...and usually it will tell you if they really read it...
Delicately wrought as lacemaker's knots. You found much here.
"the ornamented images you draw in calligraphy
to get at what is hidden, does not answer
the puzzle of what makes blossoms prized objects, even when they balk, refusing to come"
I really was taken by this passage from your poem. It challenged me to reflect on the depth and scope of that which comes for the human hand, compared to that from natures... a fascinating juxtaposition. Good write her Maureen...
…rob
Image & Verse
here is a re-write from today of my poem: Laughing
I found this poem to be an expert translation of that ache in the chest. Brilliant!
A found poem, how very clever, and you have woven those found words into a really interesting fabric of poetry!
Well found! And what rich source material.
erasing the dark to let in more light
Poetry really is "our own translation" of our own mind, soul, heart. Indeed, the words need to be found. Fascinating.
Outstanding!
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