Sunday, May 20, 2012


This poem by Serena Fusek resounds on "the ends of the nerves."  Here it is, re-produced in its entirety, because it embodies so much of what I want to accomplish here:

The True Poem

The true poem
though spoken in
human tongue
is pronounced
with the lisp
of a fox growling
over a dead rabbit.

The true poem,
even when typed
on a computer,
is inscribed
in the rabbit's blood
by a quill
from a crow's wing.

Its letters are read
not by the eyes
but by the ends
of the nerves,
as Braille is read
by fingertips.

The Lady
and Her lover
trail through the poem,
their footprints
fading in the drying dew.
They pass
the crossroads
under the beam
of the Hanging Tree.
The white doe
watches from the hedges
of wild roses.

The true poem
may seem slight
but the must of
wild mushrooms
and leaf mold
worm through the lines.
As if Grandmother Spider
crawled over his nape,
the reader shivers.

First of all, I am struck by the simple language.  It's pure poetry, without any cliff notes to meaning.  The words speak for themselves.  She allows "drying dew," "crossroads," "wild mushrooms," and "rabbit's blood" to do their magic and dominate.

I challenge anyone not to feel the mysterious significance of "Pronounced with the lisp of a fox growling."  On the surface, it probably speaks to the mystical fact that a poem comes from someone's in-most self, is guterral, primeval, and intuitive.  But to explain it away dulls the deep-cutting edge of the line.

In a way, it's the opposite of the unusual word-pairing I've been doing with my poetry.  While I like that the surprising uses challenge my reader to look at reality from a different perspective, I think I can learn from Ms. Fusek about using the heart of imagery to speak to the soul.

This poem is published on the aptly named Mythic Delirium.

Additionally, please see posts below for our fairy tale writing contest.

"The True Poem" is copyright Serena Fusek and Mythic Delirium.

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