Tuesday, September 23, 2008


Giuseppe Verdi - "Triumphal March", Aida

As I work to sharpen my knife,
kindly stop fidgeting and listen to
how much you'll enjoy being carved up.

You'll also rejoice in the knowledge
of the house your bones will make sturdy
and the bountiful lush garden
we'll be able to grow with your blood.

I know, you cannot picture it now,
but I've helped colleagues who have done it
and I'm pretty sure you can trust me
to get it right from the very first try.

I've observed and carefully noted
how we must start with the tongue -
we wouldn't want those words you don't mean
to hang about the house like mad rats.


Roxana said...

oh - i hadn't read this poem - it is stunning, m, absolutely so - every word and every sound falls strangely into place - the only place they could have ever been, as great poetry always gives this impression - an unknown place filling one with wonder and fear.

m said...

roxana, i do feel similarly about it, and i feel i can say that - and read your words - without puffing up because it's one of those poems that just burst out, complete and with its own personality. i was pretty much just holding the pen.

good morning, dear one