Many Faces of It, Art
(for Julia Klimenova)
"For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives"
– from 'In Memory of W. B. Yeats' by W. H. Auden
1.
No, I don't think I write poetry, or ever wish to,
rather it's poetry that writes me each time I come
across my longing and despair in every wake,
or at the sudden fall, of this very life I hold on to
like a frightened child with Mother's fingers in his grip
as they go around a shopping mall in the downtown,
or like a sailor drowning down into the deep,
yet clutching hard at a piece of broken wood
off the wrecked ship on the Atlantic.
2.
So, that poetry looks through the magic lens
means Darkroom where negatives of the snapshots
are developed in the dark for children of light,
that it keeps us long since floating alive means
Saviour as more linked to dolphins in legends
than prophets themselves going dry in the desert,
that it saves us from being lost in the bustle
means Mother the child's own against all odds
as compared to duty-bound nurses at the orphanage,
that it gathers things along the way means
Archive which captivates ecstasy as in orgasmic cries
and grief – our Lucifer plotting against Time,
and that it puts in us the very essence of living
means Creator – of "creative frenzy" we drink to the lees,
no different from the Supposed One Everywhere.
Poetry by Sofiul Azam
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Written on 2006-08-13 at 13:22
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