i say there’s an ocean between holes in the ocean and no one believes me (just add a tin can, it’s heavier than a cup of coffee) i remember one day being born as the sun hissed by my window the silence was rounder than a peach not real silence but a kind of torn paper bag not my obsession to touch the earth not this old drag
This Old Drag
The Used Life 
12 responses to “This Old Drag”
‘hissed’
how ace
xo
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Awesome. Thank you, friend.
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Surreal and beautiful. Again, you are such an outstanding lyricist.
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Thank you so much. Lately, I’ve been focusing more on the auditory components of my poetry—on capturing that lyrical quality—as opposed to imagery and intent. I’ve noticed the poetry itself becomes different.
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It shows. Really, this was a pleasure to read.
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Happy you think so. Thanks again!
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This poem is incredibly dazzling and spectacularly written. Your intention to find a new style is clearly felt, and I’m sure you have succeeded. Excellent work from a genius like you; and again, powerful… Deep breathing. 🙂
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Thank you, J. What a wonderful compliment. 🙂 I am enjoying these experiments in composition, especially focusing on the musicality of language.
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What you say about the musicality of language is very interesting. It reminds me of a good friend who gave up painting for a while to dedicate himself to poetry. He began by writing conventional poems – many even in consonant rhyme – but he immediately had the idea of inventing, since not a new language, an alphabet proper to the customary language. First, he mixed together with the vowels on the one hand and the consonants on the other; thus the word “mountain” was read “vambele” and the word “monkey” was now written “vama”. At a later stage, disregarding all sound logic, he decided to freely exchange consonants and vowels, which produced unpronounceable words like “xgtifhm” or “spsutk”. From these experiments emerged a kind of private alphabet, which my friend came to master with astonishing ease, and also a book called “My Alphabet”, full of poems impossible to recite. To everyone’s surprise – even the author – a publishing house was interested in the book and offered to publish it on the sole condition that, as a preface or warning, the two alphabet books – the current one and his – would confront each other and remain from the beginning clarified the counter-figure. My friend, by now thrown back into painting, immediately and firmly refused. I was able to read the letter he wrote to the editor. The intention of his book, he asserted, was “to make sign rather than signifying “; in this sense, he concluded, “nothing is more impertinent than a kind of access code”.
Ciao does not mean goodby. :-).
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Well, that’s an interesting story. It must have been a lot of work for your friend to construct his own alphabet. One thing I have noticed–and this is important, I think–is that the logic of a poem changes when one’s main focus is rhythmic. That is interesting to me, and the effect, I think, is that one has created, or is speaking, another language. It is the sound, then, that gives the poem much of its power. Ciao–and not goodbye–for the moment. 🙂
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You play with words beautifully …
the silence was
rounder than a
peach
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Thank you so much. I had a lot of fun writing this poem. I’m happy you enjoyed it.
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