Matthew Pearson

The Death Of The Writer - Poem by Matthew Pearson

through the gaping, cracked, mourning
a finch’s pulse ceased. Salzburg never was
so distant before. In her hands, charcoal
sketchings. Long, nicotine stained depictions
of the man who stumbled. Growing up
in that house, even the shadows stumbled.
Piano recitals with a cane to correct errant
fingers. Aged, unsurprised, still unstuck,
too many trapdoors to fall through.

Comments about The Death Of The Writer by Matthew Pearson

  • (1/20/2008 5:43:00 PM)

    It's such a pleasure to encounter a mind at work...very effectively integrated and concentrated intellect and emotion........ (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
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  • (7/22/2006 4:02:00 PM)

    Here's a mini movie of a poem. Impressed. (Report) Reply

  • (6/8/2006 5:11:00 AM)

    This is a nice structured piece, Matthew. The imagery is good and though there is a sense of gloom there is also a strong feeling of detatchment from the narrator.

    One part ('Piano recitals with a cane to correct errant / fingers...') reminded me of the film 'A Star Is Born' yet that does not detract.

    A well paced and structured work.
    (Report) Reply

  • (4/30/2006 6:49:00 AM)

    Yes, about your own standard, Lamont. (Report) Reply

  • (4/29/2006 12:58:00 AM)

    Evocative, tight, and powerful. Nicely done. -LP (Report) Reply

  • (4/28/2006 10:20:00 AM)

    I have read this several times, Matthew and felt that it might more correctly be called The Birth of the Writer, for out of sorror and fear poets, musicians, and artists are born. This is really heart-wrenching and lovely.

    (Report) Reply

  • (4/28/2006 8:58:00 AM)

    This poem reminds me very much of my childhood....and I'm not even sure why. We never had a piano... so it's not that image. I think it's the overall feeling of sadness and fear mixed with sickening visuals that stick in your head the stains of nicotene. I think this was a wonderful poem. Sincerely, Mary (Report) Reply

  • (4/28/2006 7:26:00 AM)

    If this is a poem worth commenting on, you could have fooled me.
    It smacks of Carter's style but can't stand on its own feet.A 5
    (Report) Reply

  • (4/27/2006 11:35:00 PM)

    Matthew, I am not sure I understand everything this poem is about, but I like the style. I like the imagery of in her hands, charcoal sketchings, nicotene stained depictions of the man who stumbled. I especially like the line, 'Growing up in that house, even the shadows stumbled.' I like the title. The poem has a nice feel to it when I read it out loud. There is definitely a cruel sorrow in the house. There has to be with a cane to correct errant fingers at the piano. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 27, 2006

Poem Edited: Sunday, April 30, 2006

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