A good poet can be likened
to an old blues singer
You’ve got to have experienced life
in all it’s rainbow variations
You’ve got to have the scars
From life’s long, hard winter
You’ve got to show the lines…
The creases and striations
Songs torn from life
With gut-wrenching intensity
Words expressed on small black keyboard
Marine band harmonica expressing emotions
A plaintive E-chord…long ebony fingers
Sorrow…sadness…smallness…immensity
Memories addressed, then electronically stored
While back porch steps record…only evanescent devotions
Singer of blues…purveyor of prose
Both rent ragged, both experience-rich
Both life -haggard, …with hopes and woes
Blues singer, prose writer…same niche
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem