I want to say your name and make you live.
The breath is moving through and waits for me
To hum my throat and lift my loving tongue
And shape my lips to give your being mine.
Then other names of mine will know yours, too,
And they will learn to speak you as I do,
Announcing you, pronouncing you with love,
Your goodness given grammar in their care,
The mystery of your meaning coming true:
And why I am when they say "I love you."
Eternity arrived with your hello,
The day you came to be when you could say
The words that made mine want to reach your ear.
I want to say your name and make me yours.
"Go on," I say, but lack the will to speak.
I lack no wish and yet my lips are weak.
Repeat the unrepeatable -- create!
But all my words have spilled into a mess,
And while they make you think and make you cry,
They circle around my mind and, crumbling, die.
You have to hear before you dare to speak
The lightest words before the deepest speech.
You have to read before you hope to write
The life you want to put inside your love.
The streetcar rattles down in New Orleans
And takes you where the music covers sins.
I only wished to stop and say hello;
A moment may be all we have to know.
The wind that blows the hair across my face
Will carry, too, your laughter: wordless grace.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
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9 comments:
This is a highly complicated poem.
It is dense. I would be happy to explain it to you, Anonymous. Send me an e-mail at anthonyzuba@gmail.com with your thoughts and questions and confusions.
Some things are left to be unknown.
I believe in mysteries, but not in the unknown. I do not believe any thing or any person is meant to be unknown.
There are the famous, the infamous, and the unknown. Writing the blog puts you in one of the first two, while an anonymous commenter fits in the final category. Belief cannot usurp the truth.
"There's nothing you can know that isn't known" (John Lennon). I take that statement as truth, and it does not need me to believe it to make it true. You're known to someone, if not to me. At least you are known to yourself. And I could know who you are if you permitted it.
I seek neither fame nor infamy through the blog. I seek only to give expression to the things I feel compelled to express. What I write may point to me, but that is not the purpose.
What prevented you from knowing the unknown?
What prevented me from knowing the unknown? If, particularly, you mean the "unknown" that you are to me, then it's yourself. Is that what you mean? Otherwise, I don't understand the question.
What is also unknown to me is how you know me.
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