SF (June 17 1942 / Troy New York)

I Lost The Music Of My Poetry


I lost the music of my poetry
I tried to hear it again
In old lines of my own,
Or in the lines of more musical poets-
Tehillim and Kohleth
Stevens and Keats, Hopkins Wordsworth and Dickinson-

But I heard no music of my own
Perhaps I have never really had
A music of my own.

Perhaps all I have had
Is what I have here-

Short lines of prose
Which also have their rhythm-
But are not true poems
And certainly do not sing together
As my soul would.

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Comments (3)

Dissatisfaction is what you talk about......from satisfaction to dissasisfaction n vice-versa....careful friend; they all are vicious circles to entrap us.....regards
Mmm, perhaps, and only perhaps, the sounds you would recognize as music really are not present in your poem. However, the sounds you can produce with your work may be your very own personal music, eh? Aren't you in need of looking inside of you and distinguish what is the music you are searching for and what is your own precious song?
I disagree. I can hear your soul singing even from here. If our mind has too many mirrors; sometimes we peer long and hard, thinking that none of these are the true reality; but one is: that one that's always watching everything.