Saturday, April 13, 2013

poetry lives



I give you this clip just to break you into her heavy south London accent but then you have to listen to this:




All these ways of speaking truth that cannot be my ways of speaking it.  But I think of this when I'm walking down the street -- not even of Portland, where it's easy to believe every fifth or seventh stranger is muttering words like this, with just this passion, just this naked blaze -- but even here in my small and dwindling badluck town, where I watch the soles of feet lift and fall, the feet of all these children who once were cheered for first fearful steps now who walk all unapplauded.

The poets will always be reborn.
 


1 comment:

Lisa B. said...

thank you thank you for this. I'm already sharing it.

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