Saturday, 11 October 2008

Poetry corner with Kieran

I was reading somewhere about how this poem speaks of "Those who make me real to myself", and it seemed to ring a note with me, i might have to make a list of people that keep me real

Pure
by Kate Knapp Johnson

for C├ęsar Vallejo

To speak with a simple mouth.
No more
big words. Bread works.
Butter, a long walk
by the river works,
salt, fog, wood.

I know how to turn myself cold,
to cut everything off—
I can slice my heart to minnows,
but it’s my wish
to remain alive, God with
and without me; those
who made me real to myself
have gone away and still

I would like to stay, the way he did,
though he was burning up
with longing and far
from home.
—He knew
he’d never see his home again
and he let that
purify him.

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