Poets As Metaphor-Mongers Poem by Ananta Madhavan

A poet wants to translate private notions
Into colloquy that folk can re-translate
In speech their kith and pals can comprehend.
But idioms are our sequestered domains,
Partly public but mostly private, because
Our lives keep diverging daily, and nothing
Stays in place, nothing is permanent, not even Time.

A poet tries to deal in metaphors,
Finding similitude in entities and things,
Likening clouds to continents, hills to beasts.

Some may resort to circumlocution
And call a spade an excavating tool.
They think up similes, figures of speech and tropes,
And fancy phrases seemingly specific,
Like ‘Cloud Nine' and ‘Seventh Heaven', or even
A subterranean Utopia called ‘Hell',
Paved all the way with gracious ‘Good Intentions'.


The myths of ancient Greece, like ours in India,
Find tales to embellish the great Unknowable:
Like inspiration. Worshipful goddess
Mnemosyne, the fount of memory,
Or Philosophy, the love of wisdom, mother
Of the nine muses. Poets depend on words,
But hope to soar above symbols. They wait
For metaphors transcending syllables.



- - - - - -
I found it worth the trouble
to look up ‘Mnemosyne'.