What If I am the “Poetryman”…?

I

What if I am the poetryman…? What if every room I have entered has had walls that spoke to me about everything that had ever happened in them; the passive defeats of a man and woman who fought bitterly before turning away from love; desirous of different outcomes?

What if what I saw in the eye pools of each person that I have met was the deepest part of them wanting the freedom to be themselves with just “one other,” and it was something I could say to them – one word or another written in a poem that might make it possible?

What if it was just the asking of one right question – the noticing of a vocal inflection, or the observation that a casual comment might not be so casual after all? Maybe that their dignity was shredded in an alley of pestilence and they have been waiting years for someone to care?

II

My attention is on Mnemosyne the mother goddess of muses – on the words floating in her river, and when I pray at all, and if at any time I do pray, it is to her that I pray – to the distiller of all mankind’s victories and sorrows, and I say Mother –

I am your son, and I am your song voice – your word man; I am your rapt listener and the grace of your virtues would be worthless if I were not in service to the cause of memory and to the teaching that it is through the act of remembering the past that the present lives.

If you wish to forget something then bring it to the river and let the waters of Mnemosyne wash over you, and let a poet remember love for you, and know that it will be tended for – that you and your memory can still live…even if it is, because of sorrow… separately.

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8 responses to “What If I am the “Poetryman”…?

  1. wild……..well written and wild.

  2. I think she has answered your prayer in this piece. It is fluid and has real dynamic range, from the personal to the spiritual, from the whispered to the ‘wild’ as Jo says. Fantastic ullulation, orison, prayer, great writing,

  3. I must comment as you have prayed to my mother goddess.
    “…their dignity was shredded in an alley of pestilence…” Yes–one can leave the alley but the dignity remains behind.
    I have bathed in that river, and it is with grateful relief I am told what I willingly separate from will be tended.
    Beautiful, evocative, remorseless.

  4. I lack your poet’s soul, but I respect and admire your eloquence. I loved the voice… could this piece be expanded?

  5. This is a glimpse of you. flickering against those rivercobbles, so deep that the current rises above them, rippling the surface. I followed this link from Paul S’s page. I will read more.

  6. johemmant – Thank you for your comment and for the wiseness of your w’s

    gingatao – I am listening and sometimes I hear…thanks…

    Bob – probably – but then it would not be this piece and then…well, I don’t know if I had made it longer would I have still been listening or putting words in the mouth of Mnemosyne…oh hell, I mean I only have so much time in a day… 🙂

    muse – I love your use of the word “remorseless…it seems so fitting…Thanks.

    beeskiffle – Thank you so much for coming…and we are all on our best days, but glimpses, taking glimpses and writing poetry about ourselves and and what we think we have seen taking place in the lives of others…

  7. renaissanceguy

    Poetman, you have exceeded many of your other works with this piece. It is exquisite. It reminds me of the best of the ancient bards as well as my beloved Walt Whitman.

  8. It was and is a labor of love…and a monument to its beauty and sting…memory I mean.

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