LOUD AND CLEAR
“I do not think they
will sing for me.”
Yeats on steroids
Yeats on steroids
that’s what he called me
avatar of that man
whose every
photograph suggests
crusty, prickly
whose every word to me
so generous,
illuminating, out
of left field
such a rooted traditionalist
yet swing door open
to extreme
innovation
to speak soothing words to
the loneliness of the soul
and me
like your Prufrock, like
that aging Irish senator
propped up
on a stick
talking to school children
them wondering
what that
old fool
was talking about
(as kids
will always do)
and you
I laughingly told you
that your
Wasteland was a
(how did I put
it my
memory failing me
Oh yes
I have it!)
ghost tapestry,
tapestry of ghosts
tissue
of allusion
which is rich
coming from me, standing
before you, metaphorically
speaking
(could not be
more metaphorically speaking)
alluding to you
your poetry
my sense of your presence
how it was back then
some lunatic giving us
a slice
of What the Thunder Said
for, of all things, our (my)
fucking matriculation
English
examination
who is that one who
walks beside you
that ghostly
desert voice you cannot hear
but is
the poem, your poem
my great beloved poet and poem
possum, Mr, Professor TS, Tom
I hear you
loud and clear
do not need
my steroids
to hear you loud and clear
poems 2 die for 