Sunday, April 15

Poem of the Day

Poetry slam on Thursday and I haven't written anything new. Maybe I'll just pull out some old stuff. I have an important interview at 8 a.m. the next day so it's a little bit hard for me to get too excited about something on Thursday night. But we'll see how it goes.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to get a better grasp of this poem. It's been on my mind lately because a friend mentioned it as an early work by Derek Walcott.

City's Death by Fire by Derek Walcott

After that hot gospeller has levelled all but the churched sky,
I wrote the tale by tallow of a city's death by fire;
Under a candle's eye, that smoked in tears, I
Wanted to tell, in more than wax, of faiths that were snapped like wire.
All day I walked abroad among the rubbled tales,
Shocked at each wall that stood on the street like a liar;
Loud was the bird-rocked sky, and all the clouds were bales
Torn open by looting, and white, in spite of the fire.
By the smoking sea, where Christ walked, I asked, why
Should a man wax tears, when his wooden world fails?
In town, leaves were paper, but the hills were a flock of faiths;
To a boy who walked all day, each leaf was a green breath
Rebuilding a love I thought was dead as nails,
Blessing the death and the baptism by fire.


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