The 17 Poems which follow:
Syllables, Christmases Seen, Sum of Life, Love War, Edenic Leaves, Us to Whip Into One, Butt-ends, In Words Hiding, In the Mourning Time, Many Tiny Pals, Like We Did Last Summer, Goats Can Chew, Skin Against Sin, Age of Incredulity, 8, Hand Over Mine and Every Sunday Dinner
were shared with two groups of students of JULES VERNE SCHOOL on Thursday, November 24, 2011. They were all presented in English by the author, Obediah Michael Smith, reading from Wide Sargasso Sea and 62 Other Poems – a collection of poems in English and in Spanish. The translations into Spanish were done by Fausto Larraguível Lepe.
Syllables
for Sibyl
“Sibyl,” two syllables I cherish
I have a dish of colourful marbles
Henry Higgins filled Eliza Doolittle’s mouth
with marbles and instructed her to say:
“With blackest moss, the flower-pots
were thickly crusted, one and all”
spitting them into her hand,
she confessed, wide-eyed, “I swallowed one!”
“Don’t worry,” said Higgins, “I have plenty more!”
and on and on, repeating words
with her mouth full of marbles
until she’d perfected every syllable
of every word she uttered
to these Higgins added an evening gown and jewelry
and she was mistaken by one and all for a princess
when just weeks before she was but a flower girl
in So Ho Square dropping “H’s” everywhere
like withered petals
Christmases Seen
Christmas, cliché,
unless you lift the floor boards,
see just-born mice,
wiggling, blind
close as my siblings and I once were
one in a grave
along with both parents
R.I.P.
stale carols, old decorations
to dig up, dig out, put up
string across the room,
about the house
Christmas was dinner
with guests at the table
gravy in boats
dishes of that, of this
passed about
children in the kitchen
wishing we were grown up
to join in
but we had our cowboy-
our Indian suits, our guns,
our rolls of fire crackers
to load them with
our back yard to run about in
to drop in when shot
people are dying as readily for real
Sum of Life
wear rough, where rough
patches, passage to pass through
the road picked, the ticket,
unable to put it back, pitch it back
pitch-black over pitch-black road
bare foot, bare back in hot sun
Love War
how one we are when we hug
two teddy bears
stuffed animals are easy to love
Guy Fawkes, full of straw
what to stuff verse with, hearts with
a candle has a wick to light
hearts have wicks to ignite
throw them full of kerosene
into the enemy’s hay loft
into their barn full of horses
Edenic Leaves
for Michael Edwards
once the fingerprints of God alone
were upon creation
these, some desire to erase entirely
to replace these with
the footprints of man
Us To Whip Into One
for Grissel Gomez Estrada
how confined we are
to our languages
who we can and who we can’t
have lunch with
how close we can get
to who have our same words on their tongue
as gooey as ours, as gooey as us
sleeping, steeping in one same tub
one same tongue, one same song
Mexican woman in a different bed
in a different room
wall between us
to weep down
Butt-ends
for Gregory
along with the cigarette
you're shortening,
sucking in, sucking on
you're shortening my life
along with your own
In Words Hiding
for James Rolle
my aim, as writer, as poet
is to pull the string of language
like a string to flush with
to cause God to fall out
into the lap like a cat
deliver who was lost,
was missing for some,
not believed in by others,
so that whose lap
I succeed in causing him to fall into
would have him, would know him,
would not have to not believe
or merely believe
In the Mourning Time
for Dawn V. Hanna
could we have been broken to behold,
to be held, to be whole,
for him to have to hold us
to fix us
when a baby cries and is picked up
or to be picked up
when something drops, breaks and we pick it up,
collect it piece by piece,
would we ever have caressed it so, loved it more
does the father love us best, love us more
love us most, when we are broken
when he is mending us
Many Tiny Pals
for Eric Rose
thousands of ants in my house
even more termites
thought I lived alone
thought I had but a few friends
turn my back a minute, turn back to find,
ants in the thousands
in my bowl of dinner
when I thought I was dining alone
Like We Did Last Summer
for Omi Taylor
poet provides or should provide
a wonderful twist of a way
of seeing, of looking
Goats Can Chew
for Dickson Wasake
what Caribbean people are
resulted from what slavery has done to us
to an equal degree
from what we have done to slavery
what English, Spanish, French, Dutch
have done to us, coupled with
what we have done to
what we have done with
English, Spanish, French, Dutch
Skin Against Sin
for Natasha Turnquest
insects bite her up and down
leave their marks
upon a woman they love,
unable to get enough of
teeth and claw marks
where they crawl
sure signs, they wanted all
got all they could get until slapped
as hard as she would
a man getting fresh
or getting too near
insects want to enter
taste her blood
shed blood, red blood
red spots dot up and down
arms, legs
damaging, discoloring
baby-pretty beige
Age of Incredulity
for Crystal Fraser
Carla Bruni, who she’s like
able to assert herself to a degree,
not before imagined
runway for a model in Milan
or my arm and my palm
to journey down in fashion
palm to spin upon, head of a pin
for however many angels
to dance upon, she among them
8
for Desiree Cox
every brush stroke,
up stroke, upon canvas
must, like insects wings,
have its corresponding
down stroke if what’s created
upon canvas is to carry the viewer
away to some place, swiftly
effortlessly, without weight
Hand Over Mine
for L.M.B.
must learn again to write
to let, to lean on
who would guide your hand
in kindergarten again
learning to form
letters of the alphabet correctly
every time a poem comes along
to be written down
without idea, without skill
submit each time to guidance
not knowing how to cross a page
with the grasshopper of
the letters of the alphabet
Every Sunday Dinner
for L.M.M.
in spite of our duet
so many minutes, days, years
I’ve had to play all alone
occasionally, when she shows up
she imagines we’re just going on
when in between her turning up
and turning back
upon the stage which all the world is
I have to appear, alone
face the audience with whatever music
I can muster, I can make a capella
my poems are these songs
melodies I make
some of them I whip out
many of them I weep out
out in the rain when the weather’s bad
unable to go inside
no inside to what I must at times
live through
out in the elements all alone
miércoles, 18 de enero de 2012
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