IN SECOND PERSON by David Erdos - Poem 8 from THE PEOPLES PRISON

 Poem 8 from THE PEOPLES PRISON

IN SECOND PERSON

 

 

When words and purpose desert you, the day

Becomes a form of requiem for you. While singing

The song you still search for in an empty church

Gods grow deaf. Or, if not Gods, gravity, stirring

 

The seas themselves, striking surface, under which

You are swimming, while straining to seal and save

What’s bereft. Gills grow. Your voice valves

And you are suddenly lost to far language:

 

The sounds you make are just bubbles,

And have as much permanence as your thoughts.

The silent day roars and you can feel it stacked,

Sharp behind you. Meanwhile, street conversations

 

From those enjoying life pierce your door.

You are a recluse now, sea strewn, ‘dolphined’

And removed from all people; all at once,

You’re ‘re-mammalled’ and returned to the place

 

You began: that primordial ooze within which time

Savours slurry, and where the former tastes

You once hurried, are seized to measure out

Your lifespan. Breakfast extends. Reading with no need

 

To end becomes sentence. Watching a film

In the morning while others work seems like crime.

You are waiting for the world to restart but then most

Of it has and this stalls you. Where what you were once

 

Was all weather, now the storm steals you

Making each step a mountain that even in this

Bungalow you must climb. You do not know

What to do, or how to be, or recover.

 

The changing world has unwound you

And you are calling out for a kiss. Fighting

Yourself for your health in the spiritual sense

And the mental. In the meantime, your mind,

 

That first asset is attempting to live

Beyond bliss. How do we live without love,

Or, with the memory of betrayal? By starting again

And believing that peace and pride remain sourced

 

Inside some other rich vein, part of a fresh terrain

Unencountered. About which you are dreaming

As you fire and fuel love’s fresh force. For what

Can you do now but rise; smoke from the day’s

 

Wasted ashes? Wasted because you’ve done nothing,

After having done so much at pace for so long.

You cannot fully forgive yourself but you try

As you power and pour into poems direct despair

 

And its answer: that desire to sing the new song.

In first person you’re there, experiencing all, senses

Stinging. In third you are fiction, freshly complete,

Finalised. But in second, you roam, seeking

 

The breath and breast to feel close to;

Between facts lays friction, as the falling rocks

Reclaim mountainsides. An unrealised rhyme

Marks you out. You are an avalanche while sat

 

Silent. And so you await the forms fusing in you.

As three versions combine the page spies.

 

David Erdos, November 23rd 2020

For more poems from David Erdos visit The Corona Diaries collection 

David Erdos is an actor, writer, director with over 300 professional credits. He is a published poet, playwright, essayist and illustrator. He has lectured on all disciplines in theatre and film for leading performing arts colleges, schools and universities around the world. His books include EASY VERSES FOR DIFFICULT TIMES, THE SCAR ON THE CLOUD, OIL ON SILVER, NEWS FROM MARS, CHANGING PLACES WITH LIGHT (penniless press) and BYZANTIUM with the photographer Max Reeves. He is a contributing editor for The International Times and maker of documentaries all over the world. David’s work has been acclaimed by many leading figures including Harold Pinter, Heathcote Williams, Alan Moore, Andrew Kotting, Chris Petit and Iain Sinclair in whose recent book THE LAST LONDON, David features. He can be reached at David.erdos@sky.com.

David Erdos

©    David Erdos has asserted his moral rights as author of his work and has full copyright.