and you’ve read many poems like this, <br />on the printed page; <br />the big words thrown in like some hot curry <br />where you’re short of good solid meat <br />so rap a few more big words in and <br />another spoonful of curry powder <br />or sex, or some current buzz-word <br />denoting a lifetime of youthful intelligent <br />rebellion and independent thought… <br /> <br />but not this time. <br />This is a famous poet of a famous time <br />and he’s just written it, in his eighties <br />and he won’t live for ever and he’s here <br />and reading it with vigour; a husky voice, and <br />his face flushed with eternity; <br />eternity, and innocence; <br />he means every word; and each word <br />comes from the centre of his life <br /> <br />‘living and dying, <br />laughing and forgetting…’ <br /> <br />and listening to him, you could feel <br />that poetry’s too good for the printed page – <br />it should be declaimed, to audiences <br />who’ve walked for dusty miles, <br />who’ve bathed in sacred springs, <br />who’ve brought their children, <br />who’ve been here all day <br />and who will sit silent by the fires at night, <br />who are on their knees <br />listening with their lives<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0011-living-and-dying-laughing-and-forgetting-listening-to-ferlinghetti/
