Sunday, June 13, 2010

A poem

Before you read this poem, you should know that my poetry is not exactly 'avant garde'. In fact, it is old fashioned in terms of style and to a certain extent, even subject matter. But I cannot help myself since I am obsessed with the Old Ones and their words and raspy voices glide down over a century or two to speak to me in my dreams. Furthermore, here at Flowers of Sulfur, I find myself in the company of much more experienced poets, so I implore you not to be, too disappointed....

Could This Be My Dying Hour

What am I to her
but a mere vestige
of a memory long ago
banished to an attic
of lost and discolored

How would she feel
if by chance she came
upon my photograph,
faded and frayed
at the edges and abandoned
by time itself?

Would she frown
at the remembrance
of events best forgotten
and curse the phantoms
of the past disrespecting
her cherished serenity?

Would she forgive me now
that her hair is silvery grey
and the deep black
velvet mane
has slowly over the years,
simply faded away?

These questions I ask
clearly betray,
to me my guilty conscience,
heavily compounded
by a fear that breaks
my cold and calculated reticence.

How strange that Time
which seemed to be
in youth, an eternity,
has miraculously shrunk
into a finiteness through which
I gape in horror-
in horror at my own,


Josh said...

To me, modern and avant garde poetry is like a new volcanic island - powerful and sharp but without soil or plants yet. Certain aspects of human meaning can only come after the rock has aged and decayed past the stage of academic dismissal into the mulch of mythology. I thought this poem had a very direct and natural flow that spoke conversationally and honestly about relationships in the way we do when we're speaking as if looking back from the end of time. Well done.

Zaina Anwar said...

Thank you, Josh.

Thomas Sheridan said...

So what if it is a traditional poem. It's still very good. It touched me so there.

Zaina Anwar said...

Lol, thanks Thomas.

Tom Atkins said...

Good writing is good writing, be it old fashioned or avant garde. The danger in the new is that often novelty tries to substitute for wordsmithing, and there is no substitute for thoughtful writing.

Good work!

Peter Greene said...

Yes to all that went before me here, especially to your poem, Zaina. I never really think about things as avant-garde, en garde, guarded or unguarded. It's a language, which means like lego crossed with a starship. The Word makes all real - words for me are thoughts - you use them well. Thanks for the poem.

I also liked the image of modern poetry as a volcanic island, freshly steaming (aheh, whoops). Some seeds are dropped by birds from faraway and above and grow.

Some of us just wash up and lie there, gasping horribly, until we can get back to the deeps we came from.

As always, enjoyed your work. Thanks again for it.


Zaina Anwar said...

Thank you Tom and Peter for your insightful comments.

Megan Duffy said...

I agree with all of the above.

Your words are intricate and gorgeously woven. As are your images.

Zaina Anwar said...

Thanks Megan.