This is quite possibly the best look into poetic processes I've yet seen: or, at least, the deepest kindest (most affectionate) acknowledgement of the source of true writing in general. It's to Homer every poet must light his fires.
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Homer's Poem
(There's only a hyphen between me and death)
Listen
- we are about to be born
we are soon to become alive
and fear is always alive
when death is near
Listen
- sounds outside the womb
outside are living sounds
of things alive
and they have names
and say their names aloud
but I remember
I have no name
I cannot remember my own name
Listen
to the name of fear
animal fear
for cattle are being slaughtered
it is a great feast day
and there is loud rejoicing
the sounds come to me
as from a far away river
a thunder among the mountains
Listen
I say to him
my brother beside me
waiting as I am waiting
Listen
I say to him
let us stay here
let us not be born
I am afraid of being born
and then whisper to myself
did I say those words
did I say that I was afraid?
-it was only a fever of darkness
only a shred of a dream
Listen
they are making ready the feast-day
there is excitement in their voices
they are celebrating
and the sizzle of cooking meat
comes to me
like the hissing syllables
of words I do not yet know
and saliva in my mouth
is flooding my name
- my name?
what is my name?
but I am not yet born
I have no name
tell me I say to myself
what is my name?
Listen
but there is nothing to hear
there is nothing outside
and we shall be born
into a world of nothing
a world in which there is
nothing to believe in
nothing to hold to
and I think if there was a choice
I would not be born
but there is no choice
Listen
I have remembered my name
and say it to those others
the others around me
who are also about to be born
although not into life
they are being born into death
I say my name to them
my name is Odysseus
in the city of life
which is the city of death
- my name that you may remember
my name is Odysseus
(from The Collected Poems)
3 comments:
"the sizzle of cooking meat
comes to me
like the hissing syllables
of words I do not yet know"
Wow! And YES. I once described the same thing as that moment when you become aware of bees swarming the Russian sage outside your window. Honey in the offing. That sustenance....
Joseph,
I second that "Wow!" I just opened up a "Collected Poems" edition of the great Canadian (for a future blog piece), and there it was. I thought I'd share my good fortune.
'There's only a hyphen between me and death'
is an interesting approach to the Odyssey in this poem.
Thank you for sharing it, Conrad.
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