Charles Simic's Voice Poem by Scott Minar

Scott Minar

Scott Minar

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Scott Minar
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Charles Simic's Voice



I've studied it,
Looked inside its vowels,
Examined consonants as if they were pyramids,
Like they held a secret
We can only see with x-ray.

But in the end, all I have is my little catechism
Given to me by a blind priest
Who rode an elephant into town,
And the ghost of Joachin Rodrigo —
Whose fingers peeled down strings
Of a guitar like seagulls
Leaping off a cliff.

And here's heaven's little flashlight
In a last cave of Hell—
Like his moist, violinist's finger
Rubbing the rim of a glass.

Wednesday, June 13, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: voice,poets
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Scott Minar

Scott Minar

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Scott Minar
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