I came across the sound of Blyin the back cavity of my head,
just adjacent to the sounds of
Stafford and of Frost. It had
made itself - made themselves -
to bounce back and forth in there
issuing noises of twang and hush.
A nasal cadence of whispers and
heavy “r”s echoing down into
the back of my throat.
A lineage of readings have been turning
over in there not just for moments, but
decades. Always looking for a way out
onto the page by way of my pen and
of my voice. I could not stand for them
to go away for long. The constancy of their
swell keeps my world from falling off
it’s spoken axis of meaning and metaphor.
Stay with us. Poets. Stay.
Twang and Hush
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Those sounds, those words that are swelling to get out are your "man" words; your man's voice. A voice that many say doesn't need to be heard anymore; a hegemonistic voice that's been heard too much; an unimportant voice. You hesitate to put them on paper, in space, because you feel you might be appropriating the space of an un-man-ed person who has before now been voiceless. Well, don't worry. As Bly might say, "Be a good man whether they listen or not." We'll be here until they need us...and they will.
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