Another newly-blogged poem here. I wrote this after reading a lot of poems by the same writer and without any intention to imitate, I think I’ve been influenced by that poet, though more in the subject and the choice of imagery than in the tone or the handling of individual words.
Anyone guess who the poet was? Come on, have a go!
When a man came round to fit
The name and future face to it
The company saw that it was good
And all the neighbours understood.
When someone found that striking out
Would bring a pain, and shit brought shout,
It called the pain and letting free
The name of I, and This Shall Be.
The uniform of class and work
The steady torching of the murk
The conquering progress of the I
Denied the dead words When and Why.
A drowning loss in someone strange
A pulling back to set its range
A naming of the world unnamed
So something wild could count as tamed
A beating to a quickening drum
So all to one bare place could come
The flight again of It from I
And name and work and word will die.
copyright Simon Banks 2012