Uff Da!

I used to think I was a cynic. I have had my moments. I've dealt with them many ways, including poetry, such as it was. But I heard something on MPR this morning, on Morning Edition, that hit me like a slug in the stomach. I've tried researching it for facts and names, but this idiotic search engine is more interested in sending me to Wikipedia than to anything actually useful. So this comes with all kinds of disclaimers.

The topic - at least as much as I paid attention to - was about Islamic poets, time in prisons, changes in society. I'm thinking it was Iran they were talking about, but I started paying attention late. There was a long poem quoted about somebody after 10 years in prison. Then they switched to modern poets, young poets, now writing with criticism towards the mullahs and their control on society. A name was given, but I'm handicapped by not "hearing" properly foreign names, so no retention. I will try to reproduce the poem from hearing it once, and having to drive another mile before I could pull over and write it down. There will be mistakes. Consider it my best effort to paraphrase the translation as read on the air. I apologize for its imperfections, and hope you can still feel the impact. If anybody is a better researcher than I and wants to offer corrections, they will be gratefully accepted.

I live
Like the child who knows not why it grows
Like the bird that knows not why it flies
Like the wind that knows not why it blows
Like the fish that knows not why every stream
Ends in a frying pan.

Whalesong

If I were a humpbacked whale
Would I sing?
And who would I sing for?
And what would be my song?

I listen to their voices on my tape.
Their music calls to me,
Its meaning hovering
Just beyond the fringes of my awareness,
Tantalizing me with its nearness.
It stirs a fiercely yearning ache
That seems to cry
"Understand!
Sing with us.
Reach through the clouding of a mind
That only understands the words of men
And join us.
You can!
If only..."
To my eternal sorrow
They do not tell me how.

The All-Purpose Greeting Card

I love brisk and sweatered mornings,
Sun rising red upon my day,
Wild geese calling while close passing,
And just one more chance to say:

(inside)

Hi! I care. I miss you.
Would you think of me today?
Happy Birthday! Please feel better.
(And is the check upon its way?)

Silence

Silence is golden.

Silence is passive-aggressive.
I will feed it into your anger
And make you my villain.

Silence is the peace in me
That says I don't have to
Say anything
To anybody.

Silence is the sure sign
The kids are into something.

Silence is my treasured reward
At the end of my day.

Silence...

One, Two, Three, Four

For me, three's a crowd.
I do not function well in crowds.
One's OK. One is me.
Two is fine.
Two's a one-on-one.
But three's a one-on-one
With one left out.
I find four,
When three are children,
Is a zoo.
Then I must recall
Each child was once
My one-on-one with life
And I must seek that joy
With each of them
Again.

It Went Without Saying

It goes without saying
I'd think
So I wouldn't say it.
And nobody knew
That it went without saying;
They all figured
It just wasn't there.

Grasshopper

Ah, my friend,
You are grasshopper to my ant.
I do not deny
I find you enticing
As you sparkle your way through life.
When I have my grasshopper moments
We meet
And I sparkle with you briefly:
Together we sparkle much more brightly
Than each alone.
But there is too much ant in me
For us to be together long.
Ah, my friend,
I am so glad
You have been there with me
In those moments.
Ant though I am,
I treasure knowing
The world finds room
For grasshoppers.

My Cave

I crouch here in the blackness of my cave.
I crawled in here alone
With just a tiny push:
What it was, it does not matter.
I am here.
I dwell in darkness, looking out.
There is a tiny piece of light
And should I look that way
I see feet passing
But none stopping at the trail I left,
No one stooping, looking in
To see if I survive
The nastiness of my surroundings,
The bleakness in the black pit of my mind.
Movement --
Crying out --
They both elude me.
I huddle with my back against the wall.
But some day that wall
Will open up
Behind me,
Open up the blackness of
Forever.
Please, don't leave me here.
Somebody, care:
Reach in a hand
When I can't reach one out.
Don't leave me here.


* * * * *
Luckily for me, that was a long time ago, and a lot has changed.

But I still remember.