Day 23 NaPoWriMo and this is my second attempt at posting. Unfortunately, my ipad WordPress app didn’t save. It looked like it published, but it didn’t. On the one day when I composed straight onto the post. You see, I am going to be on the road for the rest of NaPoWriMo. I will be distributing little luggage labels with poems on them for Maria McManus’s Label Lit project for Ireland’s National Poetry Day on Thursday, the 26th. Even though I will be outside of the country I am still flying the poetry tricolour. I have a certain amount of airport travel anxiety (Cue a big eyeroll from my big brother Steve who has wanted to stuff valium down my throat on occassion. Even my husband wanders away from me and mumbles he will meet me at the gate.) Now I am going to miss my trusty laptop even more than I thought!
So – to reconstruct . This was the prompt.
And now for today’s (optional) prompt! Kate Greenstreet’s poetry is spare, but gives a very palpable sense of being spoken aloud – it reads like spoken language sounds. In our interview with her, she underscores this, stating that “when you hear it, you write it down.” Today, we challenge you to honor this idea with a poem based in sound. The poem, for example, could incorporate overheard language. Perhaps it could incorporate a song lyric in some way, or language from something often heard spoken aloud (a prayer, a pledge, the Girl Scout motto). Or you could use a regional or local phrase from your hometown that you don’t hear elsewhere, e.g. “that boy won’t amount to a pinch.”
Now I used a phrase my mother would use in a conversation over a shared cup of tea with my neighbour. Winnie said, ‘Don’t let your tea grow old.” And I piped up that I didn’t have an asbestos mouth. Which I then had to explain wasn’t really a strange American phrase, probably only a Smith one and maybe only one my mother used with me who was waiting for her tea to cool or was blowing on her dinner before forking it into my mouth.
I guess you don’t have an asbestos mouth.
Let me eat and drink tepid,
have no need for a tin foil tongue.
Let me not sup on brimstone and fire
or inhale charcoal into my lungs.
It will not make my speech vapid
to not have to swaddle my mouth.
Let me taste the taste, savouring my own arpegio.
Let me know what I know.
Copyright © 2018 Bee Smith