No Poem In Me/Everything Irritates and Angers
NO POEM IN ME
No poem in me-
Everything irritates and angers
Even the beauty of the morning light-
Says nothing to me.
Walk, walk, walk,
Try to get the Impatience out.
Write a few lines,
To come back to a better Self.
Try.
Despite these lines
I am not there yet.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Lost The Poem I Wrote In My Mind
I LOST THE POEM I WROTE IN MIND
I lost the poem I wrote in my mind
When walking to Shul this morning-
I can only try to recall its thoughts;
‘Walk too fast and the mind cannot hear itself
Walk slowly and listen to the poem inside yourself.
The road ahead the trees the sky
Has a beauty too great for you to write
Thank God for your sight.”
The best lines are forever gone-
A poem to replace a poem
Is not as good as the original-
I wish I had the words for all the beauty God gives me in my life
How wonderful it is to be alive- sometimes
And to be able to write poems – even if somewhat poorly.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Walk And Lines Come To Me
I WALK AND LINES COME TO ME
I walk and lines come to me-
Then I stop somewhere
And wait for more lines
To complete them-
Then when I am at home
I rewrite them-
Then I listen to them inside me
Again and again,
And when I hear that they are not right
I try to find what is missing for them,
Write and write again
Until reading it to myself
It sounds as it should be.
And when I am done
I am quiet inside,
As if all the Hope in the world
could be reborn
through a poem.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Walk Without A Poem
WALK WITHOUT A POEM
I walk without a poem-
It is a time without poems-
I am tired -
The world is beating me down-
The older I ache
The more I grow cold-
I write these lines in the deep heat of summer
They are incidental and small
A poem perhaps-
But they cannot lift my soul
I do not know how now -
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem At The End Of The Walk
THE POEM AT THE END OF THE WALK
The poem at the end of the walk
Does not know
Whether or not it will come into being-
Why a poem now?
Because the pen is in my hand
And I have some minutes to wait
And the world outside
Has so much light and beauty,
And I am quiet inside
After the long walk
Before the day of work
Not tired.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Walk And Wait For A Poem
I WALK AND WAIT FOR A POEM
I walk and wait for a poem
What else do I have but a poem?
The schoolchildren by the side of the road
Are helped by their father into the car.
Yeats had ‘schoolchildren’ in his poem-
But I am not Yeats.
I stop and write these lines down
A poem is not enough
A small poor poem
Is not enough.
But what else do I have but a small poor poem
And the memory of my children
The children I love so much-
When they were schoolchildren
So long long ago?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem Of All The Places I Have Never Been
THE POEM OF ALL THE PLACES I HAVE NEVER BEEN
The poem of all the places I have never been
The poem of all the dreams I have not seen
The poem of others poems written in lines I have never imagined
The poem of the infinite – what-is- not and ‘what- will- never- be
The poem of seas and suns and sounds and Shakespeare’s sonnets,
The poem of words and only words whose sounds do not mean what we feel
The poem of all I would not and cannot write
The poem that is not and never will be in me
The poem I do not write
The poem I am not
The poem lost
The poem which itself is not a poem
The poem of the last contradiction and the first
The poem beyond the poem hidden within the poem
The poem which will never be a poem
The poem which is not
The poem I cannot dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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There Is A Poem For Me Somewhere This Morning
THERE IS A POEM FOR ME SOMEWHERE THIS MORNING
There is a poem for me somewhere this morning
I will find it somehow
Perhaps it is in the memory of my father
Whose Yahrtzeit is today
Twenty- two years.
Perhaps it is as it is often
In the morning light
When I first walk outside to Shul
Perhaps it is in the deep need for a poem
For my own justification
Perhaps it is in my daughter’s search
For poems of inspiration
Perhaps it is in many things mixed together
Most of which I have not yet
And may never bring to mind
There is a poem for me somewhere this morning
I am writing it now
It is not beautiful
And not the best
And maybe even not much of a poem
There is a poem for me somewhere this morning
And I am not alone.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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If There Is A Poem On This Walk
IF THERE IS A POEM/ON THIS WALK
If there is a poem
On this walk,
Will I know how to write it?
Will I know how to make
The cold and the wind
Into a song of joy?
Will I know how to make
The gloom and the damp
Into a hymn of happiness?
If there is a poem on this walk
Will I know how to stop and hear it?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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If I Had A Poem Now
IF I HAD A POEM NOW
If I had a poem now
The light of the morning
Would be true light.
But the lines I have just written
Are not strong enough.
The light is still the light
And a new day
Is still a new day
The poem is perhaps
Somewhere else
Later.
So why do I write this,
And call it a poem now?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem I Am Writing Now
The poem I am writing now
does not know if it will be finished
it does not even know if it will be a poem -
it is slowly appearing line by line
and making its own meaning on the page-
Is it worth anything?
will anyone care?
I don't know -
The poem I am writing now
is just these lines
and these lines like all lines
are only small words
in a vast universe
that has long lived
and will probably longer live
without them.
Why then write these words now?
The poem I am writing now is saying,
'I am here now'.
But why should this mean anything to anyone else?
The poem I have written here
is not the poem I would have posted here
It is only the poem I am finishing now
a poem without great love or belief in itself.
The poem I am writing now
is written.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Grey Grey Morning
GREY GREY MORNING
Grey grey morning
Purim again
Where to begin?
A poem is not just any words-
A poem needs a music of its own-
A beauty-
Lines that are memorable.
A poet cannot just be
What one happens to see and feel
At the moment
A poem must have lines which others will remember.
Grey grey morning
Purim again
Another poem about a poem
Is there one line here worth remembering?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Can A Sick Man Write A Morning Poem?
CAN A SICK MAN WRITE A MORNING POEM?
Can a sick man write a morning poem?
Can a man short of breath write anything?
I try-
My own banal reflections on my own condition are the poem-
A small confession of where I am today –
I have the strength -
I have written these lines -
Perhaps the morning light today
Is real after all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Scribbler's Stymie
Pen and paper in sight
I've got no poem to write
Staying up all night
I've got no poem to write
Although my mind is bright
I've got no poem to write
It's windy out tonight, should I go fly a kite?
I've got no poem to write
My ceiling, it is white
I've got no poem to write
It's 4: 59! Five, but not quite
I've got no poem to write
In your arms I'd feel so light
I've got no poem to write
I've had no sleep tonight
I've got no poem to write
Will you just hold me tight?
I've got no poem to write
Outside it's almost light
I've got no poem to write
It's late, off goes my light
I've got no poem to write
poem by Julia Grace
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All I Want From This Walk Is A Poem
ALL I WANT FROM THIS WALK IS A POEM
All I want from this walk is a poem-
A small poem-
I can take home-
A poem that can somewhat diminish
My guilt, my sense of failure, my worthlessness-
A small poem
That can make me feel
I am a human being again-
As sitting in the sun
And rewriting this poem
Does to some degree now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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There Have Been Many Opening Lines Tonight
THERE HAVE BEEN MANY OPENING LINES TONIGHT
There have been many opening lines tonight
But none has been followed by a convincing poem -
Why is this evening one of trying and failing?
Why can't I at least write one small poem
That seems to me worthwhile?
I am doing better now-
There is a stanza,
And perhaps these lines will be a stanza too.
I have two small awkward stanzas
When I finish this one
I will try to feel I have a poem.
Nothing I do tonight is good enough
Is it better to have a poor poem
Or none at all?
I answer by posting these lines.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Wanted To Write The Most Beautiful Poem
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem
The one beyond any music I had known-
The one which would reveal the changes
in yellows and greens
spring sunlight whispered to the trees
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem
The one which would tell the stories of all those I have loved and cared for-
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem
As a poem of Kindness-
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem
Of sublime and overpowering distance
Of stars when stars were dreams -
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem-
But I knew many other poems already written
Would always be far more beautiful than mine-
So I tried to write the most beautiful poem I could-
But the light outside
The world and its colors
The beauties we see and hear everyday
Said to me again and again,
'Walk more humbly with your God and do Justice and love Mercy also'.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Stop And Wait/For A Poem
I Stop And Wait/ For A Poem
I stop and wait
For a poem.
The poem does not come
The city says ‘Morning beauty’
The silence is a sadness unsayable -
Light is lovely
Isn’t it?
Irony Irony Irony-
I write these lines
As if I actually believe
I am writing poetry
And doing something.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Only Poem Is The Poem/ At The Moment Of Its Writing
THE ONLY POEM IS THE POEM
The only poem is the poem
At the moment of its writing
The poem being lived now
The poem I am trying to make
The poem of these lines.
The only poem now is this one-
And this poem is so small and so self- reflexive
That it is not much of a poem at all.
The only poem is not much of a poem at all
This one
And me now? .
But what about everything else I have not done?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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There Are Those Who Wait Years To Write A Poem
THERE ARE THOSE WHO WAIT YEARS TO WRITE A POEM
There are those who wait years to write a poem
The fruit slowly ripens inside and then as with Rilke
It suddenly falls -
There are those who write a few lines
And come back time after time
And find the poem after many efforts-
There are those who cannot wait to write a poem
And once conscious of it must write it down as fast as possible
Before it is lost-
And there are those who only in the present writing
Find the poem -
The page suffers many methods and modes
But what truly makes a poem worthy
Is another question.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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All The Poems Remain Written Where They Once Never Were
ALL THE POEMS REMAIN WRITTEN WHERE THEY ONCE NEVER WERE
All the poems remain written where they once never were
The grass and the skies of Whitman form lines in the mind of Baudelaire
The trees and dark cities of the distance form single sounds in the heart of the poet who cares
Night is more than darkness and day more than an early setting out
Each thing influences the other and calls back its own origins and end
We are going somewhere we will never know whether we write eternal lines or not
Over everywhere can be heard in the morning light the selfsame sound that through the heart of Ruth burned the alien corn
Keats is not dead, and Borges is not dead and Kafka is not dead and Wordsworth and all those who wrote great lines are not dead
Poetry is the last first eternity of the living word
And those who can hear the sounds of others greater than themselves in their own lines know
We are all writing down this last poem for ourselves and no one else
Though as we go to pray each morning the minyan tells us secretly
All our prayers together are more than any single poem can be alone
In the grey long distance where no one hears any poem at all
God writes and rewrites for us all the book of the stars in which dread is no longer a name
And beauty bright bright beauty is heard and reechoed as more than we will ever be
God is the only Poetry in the End
God is the Only One who never will be dead..
poem by Shalom Freedman
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