Monday, 2 May 2016

Suddenly I Heard Someone Say.

  The interceding voice is known to you
  from literature; a stranger’s voice who speaks
  offstage: He passed with his friendly word through    red-brick pillars into the darkness. Texts,
  familiar as the classics, tell of
  a life’s unforeseeable salvation:
  Someone shouts. A hand grabs me by the collar   and I am flung from the police cordon.
    A casual comment to the universe,
  addresses no one in particular.
  Jaunty, the voice is baroquely perverse.
  I run, compelled by an animal fear.

  Sometimes we are so confounded that we
  do not know our own voice or whence this plea   comes, but hear only the stranger’s decree:
  ‘You know there cannot be a voice for me.’


  Text composed from key lines from : 
  A Passage to India. E M Forster.
  The Pianist: One Man’s Survival in Warsaw, 1939-1945. Władysław Szpilman.
  Of this Time, of that Place. Lionel Trilling.
  The Pilgrim’s Progress. John Bunyan.

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