“When
you begin to write poems because you love language, because you love poetry.
Something happens that makes you write poems. And the writing of poems is
incredibly pleasurable and addictive.” – C. K. Williams (1939-2015)
A native of New Jersey, Williams
came comparatively late to the writing of poetry, though he was encouraged by
his father from an early age to read poems and learn them by heart. It was in
penning a love poem at the age of 19 that Williams discovered a sense of
vocation and from that moment on "knew that that was what I was going to
do.”
His poetic style involved long
flexible lines and 
while he wrote on many topics, children, marriage and the
ties of family were often his significant themes. Among his many awards were the National Book
Award for The Singing and a Pulitzer Prize for Repair.
For Saturday’s Poem, here is
Williams’
The Singing
I was walking home down a hill near our
house
on a
balmy afternoon
under the blossoms
Of the pear trees that go flamboyantly mad
here
every
spring
with their burgeoning forth
When a young man
turned
in from a corner singing
no it was more of a cadenced shouting
Most of which I couldn't catch
I thought because
the
young man was
black speaking black
t didn't matter I could tell he was making
his
song
up which pleased me
he was nice-looking
Husky dressed in some style of big pants
obviously
full
of himself
hence his lyrical flowing over
We went along in the same direction then he
noticed
me
there almost
beside him and "Big"
He shouted-sang "Big" and I
thought how droll
to
have my height
incorporated in his song
So I smiled but the face of the young man
showed nothing
he
looked
in fact pointedly away
And his song changed "I'm not a nice
person"
he
chanted "I'm not,
I'm not a nice person"
No menace was meant I gathered no
particular threat
but
he did want
to be certain I knew
That if my smile implied I conceived of
anything like concord
between us I should forget it
That's all nothing else happened his song
became
indecipherable
to me
again he arrived
Where he was going a house where a girl in
braids
waited
for him on
the porch that was all
No one saw no one heard all the unasked
and
unanswered questions
were left where they were
It occurred to me
to
sing back "I'm not a nice
person either" but I
couldn't come up with a tune
Besides I wouldn't have meant it nor he
have believed
it
both of us
knew just where we were
In the duet we composed the equation we
made
the
conventions to
which we were condemned
Sometimes it feels even when no one is
there that
someone something
is watching and listening
Someone to rectify redo remake this time
again though
no
one saw nor
heard no one was there
Share A Writer’s
Moment with a friend by clicking the g+1 button below.
No comments:
Post a Comment