A social site for poets in Sydney.
For William Carlos Williams...
On the paper-white slim screen
I watch the weaving of waves
and listen, tortured, as the words
fall upon my long suffering ears.
I am distressed by this nasal tone,
rambling, adenoidal, penetrating.
I seek in vain his hidden genius,
as he burbles on and on, and on.
His verses crash heedlessly and
continuously one into another -
like a rainy weekend pile up on
the holiday interstate highway.
Nothing separates. Nothing defines.
Nothing survives these fatal crashes,
his splintered similes, or that voice.
I move the curser and click on delete.
The screen surrenders to winter snow,
and the speakers fall mercifully silent.
End Note: In re-mastering a tape recording of a great American poet, I found an unexpected dimension in pain.
That Voice © Dermott Ryder
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