Creativeness...
ok - so I said I'd put some of my own work up but....anyway - here's a poem by someone eveyone at Toorak College will know very well. I love his poetry :) (btw that was HUGE hint) - oh and -
Disclaimer: This is not my poetry blah blah you get the idea...
Grief
When the call comes you’ll know it
by the whitening face,
the random weirdness of the time,
or the clutch of your own heart
in the dark.
When the call comes expect no politeness,
or discreetness or correctness,
though there is a pattern to them.
Those calls pronounce
a sudden change of fortune,
by their nature, unexpected,
like unannounced trains
sliding solid into view
where before there was space,
or the unprophecised eclipse
that darkens it all.
These are the late night calls,
the pulse quickening jangle
half memory, half sleep
the dread;
now anything is possible,
now is my grip less firm on the world.
Between the over loud ringing and the voice
there is all possibility;
you fortify yourself.
All I care about, you claim,
is safe within these four walls,
you are renouncing friendships
and attachments
even as the sound gushes around you,
reclaiming that given part of you,
washing your hands of life-long friends.
When the call comes you can’t avoid it
or postpone it
or defend it,
the world enters, uninvited,
and won’t go away.
This shapes character,
becomes more common,
hardens us,
makes us fallible and human
the sound of the phone fills the night,
a call from beyond the daylight world
beyond fear and life.
You can make coffee, make plans
revise yourself, another broken promise,
rationalise it all you like.
Later the sun comes up.
I love this poem. Homework to do...
Disclaimer: This is not my poetry blah blah you get the idea...
Grief
When the call comes you’ll know it
by the whitening face,
the random weirdness of the time,
or the clutch of your own heart
in the dark.
When the call comes expect no politeness,
or discreetness or correctness,
though there is a pattern to them.
Those calls pronounce
a sudden change of fortune,
by their nature, unexpected,
like unannounced trains
sliding solid into view
where before there was space,
or the unprophecised eclipse
that darkens it all.
These are the late night calls,
the pulse quickening jangle
half memory, half sleep
the dread;
now anything is possible,
now is my grip less firm on the world.
Between the over loud ringing and the voice
there is all possibility;
you fortify yourself.
All I care about, you claim,
is safe within these four walls,
you are renouncing friendships
and attachments
even as the sound gushes around you,
reclaiming that given part of you,
washing your hands of life-long friends.
When the call comes you can’t avoid it
or postpone it
or defend it,
the world enters, uninvited,
and won’t go away.
This shapes character,
becomes more common,
hardens us,
makes us fallible and human
the sound of the phone fills the night,
a call from beyond the daylight world
beyond fear and life.
You can make coffee, make plans
revise yourself, another broken promise,
rationalise it all you like.
Later the sun comes up.
I love this poem. Homework to do...
posted by kat at 8/09/2004 07:18:00 PM
1 Comments:
ok this is my first time posting something so im not sure what to say. so i suppose i'll write something about the poem.
i find the poem so unbearably painfully true that it rocks the foundations of having faith. it creates a fear of feeling the full extent of grief even if you have never felt grief before. i find it almost depressing and as much as i think it is a well written poem i don't think i could 'love' a poem of this nature.
Congrats to the gent who wrote it, but maybe something a little less depressing next time please!
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