BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,

Interesting ...

I have seen this slip into my writing of late ... the "I/me/mine" which has always been "generalized out" of my poems. Since most of my poetry has been "statements of states", the logs of inner journeys through that putrid nightmare of my life, things have always been at a remove ... not me, not mine, just "there", stardate 2001. However, I see personal statements coming in now ... which is interesting in light of an article I'd read dealing with poetry and poets and how the particular phrasing can offer insight as to where the poet actually "is" psychologically. The suggestion of the piece was that when the poems drift deep into "I" territory, that's when things tend to go all "Sylvia Plath" in the real world. Not a big surprise here, I guess ...

                    AT THE POINT OF EXECUTION

                    the substance varies
                    between forgetting and dread
                    how sweet the forgetting
                    how horrid the dread
                    we can hardly function
                    in either state
                    being lost or distraught
                    empty or drained

                    there seems no hope
                    no way to change
                    the status of the zone
                    the only change comes brutal
                    kicking down the door
                    and ravaging the place
                    which has been our only true home
                    our only refuge

                    I feel so ill
                    tainted by the loss
                    and by the promise
                    of all the losses
                    so surely yet to come
                    I stare into this void
                    and see no exit
                    no way that I survive

                    all that I know
                    all things for which I care
                    are threatened now
                    more than threatened
                    they wait their execution
                    as though in line
                    to climb the platform
                    for the guillotine's blade

                    and how can I
                    stand here and watch
                    the massacring of my world?
                    my feet are bound
                    my hands are tied
                    I can not act to save a one ...
                    why can't I die
                    and not be put through this?

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp

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