My Papa once explained to me the genius of Poe’s poetry
In making language lyrical that was much inert;
Some tongues like French and Russian flow;
But English breaks upon the teeth
Unless we pull chords deep
Beneath; deep beneath
The surface
Struggling (mired in A,B,C), remembering he who sired me;
Limited to words, my own, chop\py though they be;
These fingers English keyboards know,
Grasp flailingly at fleeting dreams
Although it’s then I truly
See; truly see him
Seeing me
With talk he wouldn’t be impressed; I’d rather offer something else –
Reality itself undressed; bereft, I’ve naught but language left,
Now feeling I have naught to show…
Here’s peddling clever stanzas cheap
While Papa lies there deep
Beneath; deep beneath
The surface
Thank you for sharing a most enlightening and inspiring post. I recognized that “ben” meant “son of,” but I was not familiar with “kaddish” or some of the other references. I also wanted to thank you for the “like” you posted on my blog. As a fellow poet, I thought you might also appreciate this entry re-posted yesterday on my father’s birthday Here is the link:
https://drlej.wordpress.com/2017/12/02/remembering-my-father-on-his-birthday/
Shalom from “ben Lonnie”
I felt these words in my soul. What a beautiful tribute. ❤