It seems you're using an old browser. In order to view this site correctly, we advise you to upgrade your browser, or try the free Mozilla Firefox.

Print Email

Poetry > Words of Our Own

Words of Our Own

SEE ALSO
Words of Our Own ARCHIVES
More Poetry Stories

The Last Poet (9/1/2010)
Ron Allen: Portrait of a cultural worker

'let's call this' (4/7/2010)
Baseball beautitude from days gone by

Artifact in verse (1/20/2010)
From Clairmount to crack, Ken Meisel still mourns

More from Rebecca Mazzei

Right place, weird time (6/17/2009)
Showing us our city, through their eyes

Pakistan beyond headlines (10/1/2008)
A humanities teacher shifts the focus

Pakistan beyond the headlines (10/1/2008)
A humanities teacher shifts the focus

 

Published 12/19/2007

I was mystified at a recent poetry reading by Norene Cashen and Gregory Kiewiet, and I've laughed out loud at previous readings by local writers Peter Markus, Robert Fanning and others. So here's an attempt to reserve space, from now on, when we have it, for the "disease of eloquence," as the author below calls poetry, along with a brief introduction. —Rebecca Mazzei., Metro Times arts and culture editor


"This is the final poem in my book, The Reverse is Also True (Doorjamb Press). It is an exhale at the end of a long road. It is a confession about the process that humbly says to the reader, 'Here we are at the end. Thank you for sticking it out with me.' Writing poetry is like a slow-motion fall. When you hit the ground, your instincts and curiosity kick in and cause you to do a double-take. You come to your senses and try to figure out what just happened."

Now You Know
by Norene Cashen

That every window is a cinema
And the movie keeps running forever
That every egg is an egg
And never changes
That you can crack open a line
And another word will pop out
That I am just beginning
Which means it is over
That the truth and the lie are both true
And therefore more dangerous
That I write the same poem over
   and over
Because I believe I am writing
The other one
That the poem is the only way to say
   nothing
Or to celebrate what you
   misunderstand
That I am working on a secret
Dyslexic template for a new kind of
   verse
That I am standing on the edge
   of wonder
And there is no place to fall off
That John Berryman is somewhere still
   dreaming
That a tooth grows out of a tooth
To create a canine antenna
That I am not really a poet
Only a writer of broken English
That I only say I love you to see
What you will do

blog comments powered by Disqus

> PLACE CLASSIFIED AD