STROKE POETOLOGY ( read by Alice McCullough )
Sitting by my shrine of I-am-ness
With my grandson and the man
Who saved my life in a gunbattle.
I go there every morning to
My mantle-piece.
Poetry comes out of blue-pain.
Experience of something old
and new. A form from a formless
form-unknown grammar.
Louis Mc Neice once said: poets
Don’t know what they are doing,
If they did it wouldn’t be done.
It flows from a near-death experience.
A duende, it rises from a poem, the tone
And sentiment seems right, it hooks into
Your being like nothing else on earth.
A story or essay is something believable.
A pome is unbelievable, it's like writing
Your gut reaction, a skywalk, stepping
Out into the blue, on a high wire-tight-
Rope with a poet holding your hand.
Imagine that wire?
Like consciousness itself, it’s hard to put
Into words, one cant find the right grammar.
There are no rules to this and that is that.
The diving bell and the butterfly,
Locked-in default mode.
Sitting by my shrine of I-am-ness
With my grandson and the man
Who saved my life in a gunbattle.
I go there every morning to
My mantle-piece.
Poetry comes out of blue-pain.
Experience of something old
and new. A form from a formless
form-unknown grammar.
Louis Mc Neice once said: poets
Don’t know what they are doing,
If they did it wouldn’t be done.
It flows from a near-death experience.
A duende, it rises from a poem, the tone
And sentiment seems right, it hooks into
Your being like nothing else on earth.
A story or essay is something believable.
A pome is unbelievable, it's like writing
Your gut reaction, a skywalk, stepping
Out into the blue, on a high wire-tight-
Rope with a poet holding your hand.
Imagine that wire?
Like consciousness itself, it’s hard to put
Into words, one cant find the right grammar.
There are no rules to this and that is that.
The diving bell and the butterfly,
Locked-in default mode.