A man in terror of impotence
of infertility, not knowing the difference
a man trying to tell something
howling from the climacteric
music for the entirely
isolated soul
yelling at Joy from the tunnel of the ego
music without the ghost
of another person in it, music
trying to tell something the man
does not want out, would keep if he could
gagged and bound and flogged with chords of Joy
where everything is silence and the
beating of a bloody fist upon
a splintered table
1 comment:
The ninth symphony has always been a favorite of mine. (Ode to Joy, it's sometimes called.) I love the line in this poem "Yelling at Joy from the tunnel of the ego," which does in many ways sum up the ninth. I've just reopened a collection of Adrienne Rich's poetry, and she really has some gems. I'll probably post more later.
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