prosody of pain

You Are Best Described By...

Eye By M.C. Escher

What Famous Work of Art Are You?

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That eye reminds me of the video of Nick Cave's "Into My Arms" that my friends and I watched last night. There's nothing more painful than watching close-ups of people, be they strangers or friends, trembling, their eyes welling up before their bodies explode in fits of sobbing.

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Letter to a Son at Exam Time
by Linda Pastan

May again
and poems leaf out
from this old typewriter
shading the desk in half light.
You at a college desk study different poems,
hold them warily by their dry stems—
so many leaves pressed to death
in a heavy book.

When you forget again
to call
it's poet and parent both
that you deny.
This is what I didn't know
I knew.

You woke up
on the wrong side
of my life.
For years I counted myself to sleep
on all the ways I might lose you:
death in its many-colored coat lounged
at the schoolhouse door, delivered
the milk, drove the carpool.

Now I catalogue leaves instead
on a weeping cherry.
It doesn't really weep,
nor do poets cry, so amazed
they are at the prosody
of pain.

You have a way with words yourself
you never asked for.
Though you disguise them
as best you can
in Gothic misspellings
there they stand in all their new muscle.
You will use them against me perhaps,
but you will use them.

* * *

Prosody: the study of poetic meter and the art of versification.

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Salamat sa mga sumaklolo: na nagdala ng sangkatutak na pongkan at beer sa bahay; na nagpahiram ng libro at charger; na nagyaya kumain ng chocolate cake; na nagyaya manood ng Jeff Buckley at porn; na nagtext ng tula at 2 a.m.; na nakiiyak na rin pagkatapos kumain ng baked oysters. Malungkot at madilim ang Paskong ito, pero lubos ang pasasalamat ko sa mga tunay kong kaibigan.

* * *

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