Joanna Sancto
The Poets
(after The Pylons, by Stephen Spender)
The secret of their words was Truth, and meaning
of that Truth made,
And metaphors
That turned on sudden hidden seeming.
Now over these sure words they have raised the dispute
That casts black doubt -
Poets, those sages,
Stand like prostitutes that have no secret.
The novel with its honed and crafted truth
And simple closure
Must deconstruct itself:
Is mocked dumb like the torn mind of a youth.
But on and on as long as sight endures
Like flights of wonder
With falcon’s hunger
There soar the lines still drawn by poets’ lures.
These dwarf old truths and classic rhetoric,
So full of certainty:
Dreaming in spaces
Where often words shall meet their silent quick.
Page(s) 38
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