The Poem Pro Tem Poem by Christine Austin Cole
The Poem Pro Tem
I want a poem that I can live in without
the barking dogs of dissatisfaction and
disillusion disrupting the otherwise peaceful
afternoon of it. I want to create that other-place
on the page without having to first create it
in my mind, or – to be too busy actually wallowing
there to find time enough to write it down. I want
to recite that poem, my poem, in a cozy little
coffee shop where they sell used books and cater
to local poets in a crazy cool, confident Sexton
like voice that does not mask but replaces the
hesitant voice that conveys, in between every word
it utters, the fear that someone will realize the truth
of it. I want to read it to them, then, there, as if I were
reading it just to you and in the way I might have if
I had shared it with you back when I couldn't wait
to share the everything that was tumbling out of me.
I want them to applaud sort of quietly as I conclude –
not because it sounded good, but because,
by every possible definition of poetic, it was.
I want to see you smile as I slide back into the
chair next to you for knowing, more than they
ever could, its truth.
And… I really wouldn’t mind so terribly much
if the waiter said something sweet like, “I wish
I could write poems like that” as he filled
our coffee cups and you replied with a
warm and sincere, “You can.”
A very intimate work, Christine, and worthy to be read in that coffee shop. You have created what you wanted, for the time being. ;) 'the barking dogs of dissatisfaction' is a classic metaphor.
you have staged a wonderful poem reading (and writing too!) show here, Christine...a complete write where in your inside feelings beauitifully spilling out...10
marvellous....i will give you a salute that i wish someday someone will give unto me after reading my work...its the feeling of warmth that grows inside, spreads gently suffusing your soul and your mind and giving your eyes that tingly heavy feeling that tells you youve been lulled into a state of memeric satiety....for that warm gentle soft carriage away into the land of soulful silences....THANK YOU.
Chris, there was some noise when I started reading your poem. So, I turned off the air-conditioner, then the TV, and all was now quiet. I got up, got a bannana, pealed it and started eating and reading. I got so absorbed in the reading the bannana fell off my hand and I didn't pick it up till I finished, so absorbed was I This is not only poetic, it's poetry breathing life into humans making us truly human. It is a poem that folds then spreads out its wings in soaring flight, gently landing on a hungry soul feeding it with salads, steak and wines - all you can have. I'll save this and read it again in moonlight in my village out in the field, in blod print. It's astonishing! Mark.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/30/2024 5:46:55 PM # 1.0.0.1119
your poem reminds me of grenwich village in n.y.c. many years ago when people could read their writings and be-applauded thanks for the memory. i just adde another one tonight called 'my worst enemy' if you have the time please rate and read it. thanks in advance. i rate yours a10.