Thursday, 07 April 2022
A poem for the 26th annual American
National Poetry Month
Birth of a Poem
A poem comes into being,
slowly, reluctantly; painfully
the serpent of language
slithers restlessly, hisses
out words from between
sharp pointed teeth; its tail
flicks ideas and images onto
the page; the pen scratches
away with rat-like sounds
desperate to keep up with
the depictions spawning from
the poet's grey cells; words
grim or eloquent by turns
painting pictures of pleasure,
misery, despair and bemusement;
language, the tools of the sentiments
expressed, rake, dig, excavate the
forms most appropriate to the theme.
Sometimes the process is quick, but
mostly it is slow, wretched, tedious
as difficult as performing heart-surgery
in the dark. The poet may weep tears of
frustration, but imagine his delight when
his words and imagery finally dove-tail
into a perfect whole — like a cabinet maker
standing back admiring his handiwork
after he's sanded the last corner and
applied the final coat of varnish.
Satisfaction and pleasure in perfection
meld; the vicious serpent of language
is tamed; the poet lays down his pen
with a smile. His audience awaits.
© Carola Huttmann, 07 April 2022
