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Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Poem-A-Day: Having Words by Alfred Corn

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Having Words
 
 

They'd started meeting by night at the only local, 

A seething crowd drawn from among the loudest 

Words, swearing, conspiring, over tankards of ale. 

In sour chiaroscuro their clenched faces by moments 

Looked too grievance or was it expressive for comfort. 

 

Rage drowns out background sounds such as summer 

Crickets, the result, that one of them, in humid 

Darkness, stops rasping his metal comb. It's clear 

That the rally of Words will turn demonic, 

That before night ends they'll be up in arms. 

 

Even the rawest learner can in a clock tick 

Become aware of the name it's called by. Which 

He tries on  Cricket  Cricket  till he thinks: Your name 

Amounts to a sound, nothing more. Trundling on 

Towards the defiant Words, he says, No. No, I Am Deuce.

 

 

  

Copyright © 2013 by Alfred Corn. Used with permission of the author.  

 

About This Poem
"This is one of those poems whose source and meaning remain uncertain even to the author. I hadn't planned to write it, wrote it quickly, and don't know how to paraphrase it. Most poems like that go into the circular file, but friends have said they liked it, so I've decided to trust their judgment and let it stand.
 

--Alfred Corn

Most Recent Book by Corn

(Press 53, 2013)

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

July 3, 2013

Alfred Corn is the author of numerous books of poems including, most recently, Tables (Press 53, 2013). He has taught writing at Yale University, Columbia University, Oklahoma State University, and UCLA. Corn lives in Hopkinton, Rhode Island.
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