Central Otago, February 2008
I planned to write in the voice of another poet this week, honest, but it seems my own voice was stronger.
Speaking Out
I have no other voice.
There is no Walt Whitman
in me today nor will I be
a Bronte tomorrow.
It is not lack of imagination,
this singularity of voice.
It is the imperative of
an urge to be heard, a
message forged within,
a high-pitched tone.
I will not counterfeit
the currency of someone
else’s song, their turn of
phrase, their pentameter.
You may know me by
these words I speak, and
greet me with your own.
Poets actually following the prompt here.
10 comments:
It takes such hard work to find your own voice you just want to keep it; but what a compliment if someone else 'samples' it
I enjoyed this, I don't like to conterfeit another poet either.
Well I've been totally unnatural in mine. You, on the other hand, have been honest.
No wonder, I resorted using my mother's voice.
I like the honesty in yours.
mom is the word
I like this poem a lot, because I also struggled with the prompt. I think I'm going to keep struggling because I keep wondering if one of the truths I have to tell would be more effective with different inflection - a tone other than my normal one.
i for one respect your clarity of voice.. i believe there is nothing more distractive than a forced persona... i loved your poem...
Smart and true - that's why we have our own voices...I tried only to change the 'tenor' of my own - Nicely done!
Brava!
:->
Nice one Pip, love the number plate too...
This is the first of your poetry posts I've had to comment on (though I always read and think). Very eloquently honest.
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