Haunted by you, Keats
lost in my Autumn days' revel
I reach for '' dull'' rhymes
to chain my English with their wiles
wondering if you'd bow down
before the poets of performance & free verse
or else lament the passing of the days of old
the Seasons are still changing,
true weather is ever unforetold
few write of Greek myth now
& Chatterton is all but forgot
in this new England
where the spoken word is more favored
than the blessed page
& ever stranger tastes invade
& seize the poet's lyre
I, being but a traveller unto
this land can but aspire
to touch it with my verse
before you, Keats, I bow down
to your ' Eve of St Agnes', sonnets
to your ' Endymion'
I read you & am seized by song
Oh bright star of poets,
listen - may you ever reign!
John Keats was an English poet who wrote in the 1800ds..
Chatterton is Thomas Chatterton, a poet from my fair hometown of Bristol in the South-west of England who lived between 1752-1770.
In this poem I make an allusion to a couple of Keats' most famous sonnets one which starts as ' If by dull rhymes our English must be chained'
to another one which starts as ' Bright star! Would I were steadfast as thou art' & was written for his love, ***** Brawne...
I have a certain respect for performance poets/poetry & free verse, as I occasionally perform my poetry & write free verse myself but at the same time I cannot help but feel that we are slowly at risk of 'losing' something special e.g poetry the way it used to be in the days of old.
