Poetry as Fun

Poetry as Fun

(For Barbara Guest)

 

Poetry as fun because the poet laughs
And lives and breathes
The fibers of magnificat surrounding her surrounding him
Until dawn and then again when they see

The blue lapping violins on the turbid water

There is a fair realism in the sense that the poem
 Can meet and exceed the imagination of the violins

As if the violins are imagining the poet watching
     Them
Watching the blue lapping notes
Prior to but not really before the crescendo

It was not just for that that Barbara finished her poems
She finished them knowing that they extended
Off the page and went out to sea
Went out to work with the notes and the violins

Again and again
      In some merger of art and life and collaboration

As if remembering those days in New York
When the boys gathered round and wore
Their visuals on their sleeves
Like late-night Jazz musicians

Who can’t stop the beaming improv
     And
Throw caution all caution
To the guardians of new avants

She taught me to listen and watch
And feel everything and collect it
And store it in my suitcase eyes knowing
I could and would retrieve my past my

Present nearby some future off-site
If I owned my own museum
If I owned that tunnel that clear vision
Through the trance of memory and

And furtive anticipation

And it wasn’t just advice
She lived her words and her stories
And sang the role of ambassador
For the fun of it

For poetry’s sake
For HD’s sake

Like a happy prophet announcing
A lyrical apocalypse
A shining deliverance in words
             Meter
                    And song

 

  — By Douglas Pinson


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