Classic and Contemporary Poetry
RHAPSODY OF THE DEAF MAN, by EDOUARD JOACHIM CORBIERE First Line: The specialist told him: 'fine, let's leave it at that' Last Line: Silence is golden (st. John chrysostom). Alternate Author Name(s): Corbiere, Tristan | ||||||||
The specialist told him: "Fine, let's leave it at that. The treatment is done: you're deaf. That's how It is you have quite lost your hearing." And he understood only too well, not having heard. -Well, thank you, sir, for deigning to make A fine coffin of my head. Now I shall be able, with legitimate pride, To understand all on trust. . . . Indeed by eye. -But watch that jealous eye, serving For your hocked ear! . . . Ah, no . . . What good is showing off? If I whistle too loudly in ridicule's face, To my face, and lowly, it can spit in my eye! . . . A dumb puppet, I, on a banal string! -Tomorrow, Along the street, a friend could take my hand And call me old post . . . or, more kindly, nothing; And I'd come back with: Not bad, thanks, and you! If someone shouts a word at me, I'm mad for understanding; If another says nothing: could it be out of pity? . . . Always, like a rebus, I struggle to catch A word catercorner . . . No -- They left me out! Or-reverse of the coin-some officious stuffed shirt, His lower lip wagging as though he were grazing, Fancies himself conversing . . . And I, gnawing within, keep still: A grinning idiot-looking intelligent! -Gray woolen cap pulled down over my soul! And-the donkey's kick . . . Giddyap! -A good lady, Old Lemonade Peddler, and of Passion, too! Might come up to drool her sanctimonious sympathy In my Eustacian tube-full blast, like a horn- And I not even able to step on her corn! -Silly as a virgin, aloof as a leper, I'm there, but absent . . . Is he a dunce, they want to know, A muzzled poet, or just a crab? . . . A shrug of the shoulders, and that means: Deaf. -Frenzied torment of an acoustic Tantalus! I see words flying I cannot snatch; Impotent flycatcher, eaten by a mosquito, Target-head with free pot shots for all! O heavenly music: to hear a sea shell Grate on plaster! A razor, a knife Scrape in a cork! A couplet on the stage! A live bone being sawn! A gentleman! A rondeau! -Nothing -- I babble to myself . . . Words I toss to the air Off the cuff, not knowing if I speak Hindu, Or perhaps duck talk, like the clarinet Of a blockhead blindman mistaking the stops. Go then, tipsy pendulum gone loose in my head! Beat up this fine tom-tom, cracked tinny pianola That renders a woman's voice a doorbell, A cuckoo! . . . Sometimes: a buzzing gnat . . . -Lie down, my heart, and beat your wing no more. In the dark-lantern let us snuff the candle out, And all that once vibrated there-I know no longer where- Dungeon where they come to draw the bolt across the door. -Be mute for me, pensive Idol. Both of us, for each other's sake, forgetting to speak, Say not a word to me: nothing will I answer . . . And nothing then can mar our understanding. Silence is golden (St. John Chrysostom). | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BLIND MAN'S CRIES by EDOUARD JOACHIM CORBIERE CABIN-KID by EDOUARD JOACHIM CORBIERE EPITAPH FOR HIMSELF by EDOUARD JOACHIM CORBIERE EVIL LANDSCAPE by EDOUARD JOACHIM CORBIERE HOURS by EDOUARD JOACHIM CORBIERE INSOMNIA by EDOUARD JOACHIM CORBIERE KAZOO by EDOUARD JOACHIM CORBIERE LETTER FROM MEXICO by EDOUARD JOACHIM CORBIERE LETTER FROM MEXICO by EDOUARD JOACHIM CORBIERE PARIS AT NIGHT by EDOUARD JOACHIM CORBIERE |
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