The fear of poetry is the <br />fear : mystery and fury of a midnight street <br />of windows whose low voluptuous voice <br />issues, and after that there is not peace. <br /> <br />The round waiting moment in the <br />theatre : curtain rises, dies into the ceiling <br />and here is played the scene with the mother <br />bandaging a revealed son's head. The bandage is torn off. <br />Curtain goes down. And here is the moment of proof. <br /> <br />That climax when the brain acknowledges the world, <br />all values extended into the blood awake. <br />Moment of proof. And as they say Brancusi did, <br />building his bird to extend through soaring air, <br />as Kafka planned stories that draw to eternity <br />through time extended. And the climax strikes. <br /> <br />Love touches so, that months after the look of <br />blue stare of love, the footbeat on the heart <br />is translated into the pure cry of birds <br />following air-cries, or poems, the new scene. <br />Moment of proof. That strikes long after act. <br /> <br />They fear it. They turn away, hand up, palm out <br />fending off moment of proof, the straight look, poem. <br />The prolonged wound-consciousness after the bullet's <br /> shot. <br />The prolonged love after the look is dead, <br />the yellow joy after the song of the sun.<br /><br />Muriel Rukeyser<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/reading-time-1-minute-26-seconds/
