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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=460412" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>0011 Synaesthesia..</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sounds nasty, maybe <br>life-threatening: <br>‘I’m sorry, boys, <br>Michael can’t come out today<br>and play – he’s suffering from<br>synaesthesia..’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oho, no – synaesthesia <br>is Poet Central: it’s the description<br>of what one sense perceives<br>in terms of another.. like when<br>Emily Dickinson, <br>she of the golden pen –<br>writes ‘To the bugle, <br>every color is red’…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So here we have the soldiers<br>Changing the Guard <br>at Buckingham Palace<br>(Christopher Robin<br>went down with Alice…) : <br>the scarlet tunics are loud as trumpets, <br>the bugles are painting the town scarlet red; <br>and watching them are Gertrude Stein, <br>e e cummings, and Emily herself…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the Odyssey (we’re talking<br>top-drawer Lit, you’ll note) <br>the Sirens sang with honeyed voices: <br>‘Pooh Bear was just going out of the door<br>when he heard a whisper like a bee<br>busy in a flower; then a louder sound<br>like a happy bee taking a rest on Pooh’s ear<br>on the way from one flower to another..<br>then he realised – it was the hunny jar<br>at the end of the line of hunny jars, <br>asking to be noticed...<br>Pooh sighed an obedient sigh, <br>took off his scarf, took a spoon<br>from the drawer, and the smiling hunny jar<br>from the shelf…’<br>This was the song the Sirens sang…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And there’s one whole song about it: <br>You’re the tops! <br>you’re the Tower of Pisa; <br>you’re the smile<br>on the Mona Lisa…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you’re the metaphor<br>that’s better for<br>the thought; <br>you’re all the senses<br>that God dispenses, <br>all making sport…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">so, I’m sorry, <br>Michael regrets, he's unable to play today –</div><div style="margin:10px 0">he’s at his computer, <br>velvet blues on the CD, <br>tasting words with his fingertips, <br>poems glinting on the horizon of his ear, <br>dancing in the stillness of the mind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=460412" data-title="0011 Synaesthesia.. de Michael Shepherd" data-description="Sounds nasty, maybe 
life-threatening: 
‘I’m sorry, boys, 
Michael can’t come out today
and play – he’s suffering from
synaesthesia..’

Oho, no – synaesthesia 
is Poet Central: it’s the description
of what one sense perceives
in te..."></div>
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