A far sea moves in my ear
Sometimes, when you talk
I do not hear sound, but taste
and savor your voice
like an apple, round. And
I bite hard, but no crunch comes, just
juice.
It rests on a bottom lip, while
echoes enter through my eyes
in waves, as though I
were submerged under water,
deaf to air.
Frequencies flog. Crests
and troughs fuse into one,
heal like the basin between
broken flesh.
But wounds are deltas, that
collect, deposit, conceive,
drown in the river of my mouth.
That sometimes, when you talk,
I do not hear a sound, but taste
the juice of your voice in my ear,
when a far sea moves.
**
The poem above was inspired by:
All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear. ««« My favorite line of all time
an excerpt from Sylvia Plath's poem Morning Song
This week at Poetry Thursday, we were asked to share a favorite line of poetry and use it as a springboard for a poem or explain why it resonates with us. Sylvia Plath's Morning Song was the first poem I read after about three years of a poetry drought in my life, when prose and I had a monogamous relationship. After reading this poem, it turns out that I was bi-literal, and could not limit myself to one literary form! That was my attempt at a joke. It's dorky, I know, but dorkiness is my selling point. D recently informed that identfying that as such was extremely "gayyyy." This is coming straight from his mouth, so all offensive email and complaints should be directed to him.
Anyway, I remember putting my hands to my ears after reading this line, feeling as though waves were crashing in my ear. My heart moved, in silence, but enormously like the great expanse of the sea. Whenever I encounter love, I recall this line and think that this kind of silence, of a far sea moving in one's ear, is what true love feels like. No, I was not under the influence of alcohol or drugs while experiencing this poetic phenomenon. Gosh, my experiences really do border that of drug induced hallucinations. But I can honestly attest that I was sober, since I had finished the last Smirnoff Ice the previous night. My ear canals were still filled with water after I came back from swimming a few laps at the gym, when I noticed my fridge was dry. Therefore as an alternative to the wine cooler, I reached out for Plath instead, and her ghostly presence hovered about in my dorm room. I nelgected to call the Ghostbusters.
Inspired by dead things again. I don't think this is healthy.
For poetry that isn't inspired by the ghosts of dead poets, hover over to Poetry Thursday.
Labels: Poetry, Writing Prompts
15 Comments:
Morning Michelle,
When I read that poem, which I have never read before, I do hear the sea in my ear. The far off cry of gulls, the whoosh of the waves and the slither of sand returning to the depths.
Oops!!
Sorry. :) I am up too early to type correctly. What I meant to say was I had not read Plath's poem before. That's the ticket.
Did this make things worse? I do love the poem and all your words. Really.
A beuatiful poem, Michelle. Thanks for sharing!
Michelle..I really enjoy your words, and your introduction, or should I use a maddisim..endingduction..lol, was just as entertaining, and no, thinking of dead things is not all bad..you just see them in a refreshing way thus giving them a new life all their own!thanks for the smile, grabbed a Plath instead, very good..m
Hi Michelle,
What a lovely poem you have written...I have savoured each word and look forward to more in future!
Cheers!
There's something very delicate here. Your blog offers a gentleness that is rare. Your words delight. Thank you.
"heal like the basin between
broken flesh." Wow. I like the word Dennis used, "delicate." It has a delicate feel, the echoes, the waves of the far sea moving in my ear... Exquisite! Thanks for sharing!
I too was inspired by a line about the sea this week! I absolutely love your first stanza and your whole poem is so rich and beautiful. Ms. Plath would be proud to inspire such inspired writing.
Michelle:
Incredible lines and imagery, all the way through, and I especially like these lines:
But wounds are deltas, that
collect, deposit, conceive,
drown in the river of my mouth.
Terrific how it hinges on that simple "but," an urgent corrective. Very fine.
An absolutely wonderful piece of writing. Thanks!
Very interesting mix of images. Very nice
Very nice sounding poem. My favorite Plath poem is "Lady Lazarus."
Chelle..hope you see this..I am glad helped you smile today..you are the third blog friend to say the same thing about a friend or family member today..I do hope your cousin is ok..and big hugs from me..((chelle))..hang in there..see ya..madd
Nice blog =)
Very deep poem, and I did chuckle at your banter about the poetic phenomenon!
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