Saturday, 12 August 2017

The poet’s curse*

It must be an unwritten love
or a love without words
something between verse and verse 
a teasing ethereality 
an absence or a longed-for 
too precious for the vulgarity of form
or description;
yes, poets who write about love
may not have it
but are nevertheless loved —
for theirs is the language of belonging
not ownership,
in the feudalism of romance
they care not for deed
but tenuriality 
— even in passing —
is land enough for love.
This they know.  

*”It is a poet's curse to be able to write about love but not have it…”


  1. There is a marked difference in the poems you translate lately. There remains the stink of "groundnut stew" gravy nonetheless.

  2. It is a pity about the insufferable cliches in your poetry, never mind the creepy words and odd and disjointed stanzas. I would want to bury them in a hole and hope no-one ever saw the light of them. Obviously you are not shy to being embarrassed by your childish verse.

  3. and despite all this, you continue to visit my blog. remarkable!

  4. Artist are misfits
    Trying to fit within the norms
    But having heart, that overspill
    This manmade vessel
    of right and wrong
    With soul that travels like the wind
    Unseen, yet felt in many a realms
    Loved …loathed and feared
    In different forms..
    Yet never claiming to own
    Or to be owned by will