Archive
07/22/09 - (2)
Night of the Fire Engines
This breeze-blown evening, if I didn't know better, I might believe, for the shrill ubiquity of fire-engine sirens Filling this restaurant's otherwise peaceful patio,
Where I've come to partake of twilight's rapturous passing, That this was Kristallnacht or, if not, Slaughterhouse-Five's evocation of the Dresden firebombing.
Never, for a second, when I sat down, Did I expect to encounter such frequent disruptive cacophonies, And yet, for me, it's precisely the unexpected
That, occasionally, yields the greatest treasures For my ever-questing imagination to transmute into dreams Or at least poetry's most creative moments,
Which is what, as I speak, with my pen, it's doing, Hoping I'll compose another star in my lyrical galaxy, A simple, synergistic image of eternity,
Despite all that is, of this hurly-burly world of mine, Trying its damnedest to derail my concentration, Scuttle my far-reaching visions, with its piercing distractions,
Which I know are necessary, if but finitely more so, Than my infinite scribblings about truth, beauty, and solitude, When it comes to saving lives in grave distress.
Don't think I don't understand this; I do. I've been pondering the disconnect between artifice and reality For more years than I care to enumerate, tonight.
And in the final, crucially critical analysis, I come down on the side of siren-screeching fire engines Racing to the scenes of conflagrations happening in real time
Rather than on that of a writer indulging himself, leisurely, In the splendors of a July night slowly unwinding, Even though both comprise the genius of life's colossal enterprise.
07/22/09 - (2)
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