The spoken version of “Suite of Songs for Saint Brigid, February 2013 AD”
The spoken version of “Suite of Songs for Saint Brigid, February 2013 AD”
Distracted
While attempting
Poetry
at my desk one day,
fighting off the usual
bears, wolves
and other dangerous beasts
of the internet
between the Muse and Me;
from the teeth of Twitter,
a ferociously distracting
animal,
there leapt out
Billy Collins, Poet
talking of Poetry.
Losing myself
in his
captivating
flow of words
I ended
Poetically satisfied,
but
Poetically wishing
I had not been
ambushed
and had instead
written
a
Poem.
Who am I, now?
I am beyond the point of no return,
more than half a century.
I am not young and I am not old,
(these things are, they say,
in the end, mere numbers.)
I am father,
sometimes mother,
my own parents gone,
yet I am still son.
I am uncle, cousin, brother,
and what are these too but
varying degrees of relative?
Names and labels sometimes fitting
but I am not a cheap portrait,
finalised in one hasty sitting.
No, no, my palette
demands much more
if I am to answer this question
with a truly perfect score.
I ask myself again, repeating the question,
who am I, now?
I am lover, fiancé, gardener, guitarist,
I am writer, widower, poet and artist.
I am blood pressure gone awry,
I am philosopher puzzling why.
I am soon to be retired,
fearful, hopeful,
often tired.
I am all of these and so much more,
these words describe, they name,
they change, they stay the same.
Who am I now?
as I always was
and will be,
I
Am
Simply
Me.