A voice reaches
From afar,
Coming to me
Via pen
And internet,
A voice of wisdom
And introspection
Couched in creative speech,
Bringing me much
To consider
And often
Encouraging me
To delve
Into the depths
Of who and what
I am.
His is a voice
I anticipate daily
To bring me
My dose
Of thoughtful
Consideration,
And a view
Rarely paralleled
Of the world
Around me.
Interesting that you should write such a lovely, moving poem, possible at the same time that I wrote this poem yesterday. Profound thanks.
-- Writing into Oblivion --
For a few years now, I am on course,
Writing poems to my heart’s content.
Such outpouring with little remorse,
No cause for sorrow and no lament.
I might write myself into oblivion,
Without so very much left to say.
Now bereft of all accrued wisdom,
Ambling along my own solitary way.
It has been fine while my muse lasted,
She was with me every step and stumble.
Oh, how I wish her whispers be extended,
Otherwise, I must resort to mere mumble.
My muse comes to me of her own free will,
I await her enchantment in patience still.
- - - - - -
(c) John Herlihy 31 March 2020
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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Ron
-- Writing into Oblivion --
For a few years now, I am on course,
Writing poems to my heart’s content.
Such outpouring with little remorse,
No cause for sorrow and no lament.
I might write myself into oblivion,
Without so very much left to say.
Now bereft of all accrued wisdom,
Ambling along my own solitary way.
It has been fine while my muse lasted,
She was with me every step and stumble.
Oh, how I wish her whispers be extended,
Otherwise, I must resort to mere mumble.
My muse comes to me of her own free will,
I await her enchantment in patience still.
- - - - - -
(c) John Herlihy 31 March 2020