Passion and sincerity - the eternal torches of life

Sunday night and I give you another replay of favorites.

The fourth heat saw the most experimental poem of the competition. And it also became my favorite in the heat.
That text is a sonnet and reminiscent of lyrics, like a few other poems from the heat. 

I think of "Tir n'a Noir" by Kolbein Falkeid, "Hingebung" by Volker Braun, "Rhetorical questions" by Hugo Williams and "Arrival" by Thomas Boberg.

But the poem of my preference was ...

Sonnet 8 [One hundred million million poems] by Raymond Queneau (1903-1976)
(From Cent Mille Milliards de Poèmes. Paris : Gallimard, cop. 1961. Translation: Beverley Charles Rowe, in webedition.)

So now the bard spurns iambs and trochees 
to aggravate the layman and the shmo 
he writes reviews that read like journalese 
which freshens up the tribal rumbelow 
   
Just one was right and not those SOBs 
the mob demands that verse be comme il faut 
both are right not that vague congeries 
most people like to read the words they know 
  
Th' inspiréd poet isn't polyglot 
in his brain one tongue is all he's got 
e'en stol'n from th' celts his muse remains his queen 
  
O bard your solo readings make me mock 
I nominate you as a gapingstock 
the metromaniacs outdo Racine

***

In heat number 5 we could read thoughtful poems with threads going out from a center of beginning.

I think of "I Was Never Able To Pray" by Edward Hirsch, "The End" by Alessandro De Francesco, "Pin drip red by Pam Brown, "In the Memphis Airport" by Timothy Steele and "Hellebosch, 5" by Eva Gerlach.

But most of all I think of ...

itinerant blue, by Samuel Wagan Watson (b. 1972)
(From Itinerant blues. St Lucia, Qld. : University of Queensland Press, 2001.)

it comes to that morning
when finally you realise: it’s all going to collapse

there is a conclusion that’s yet to be seen
while loose ends are stacking high to a volatile degree

eyes peering through sun-kissed slits
at a landscape bathing in a varnish of itinerant blue
as if the sky has reminded the earth of loneliness
and the old days of communion

a dawn when gamblers get slapped into remission
and the ball starts rolling again with rogue impetus

time to move and abandon what is built
and may later bleed
after days and nights of bargaining into the mirror’s subversion

as the only muse that serenades you
is a computer generated image

wishing to advise
                      you have limited credit to make this call…

***

Heat 6 had, just like third heat, a lot of emotions floating around.

I think of "Mother" by Meg Bateman, "Mute song" by Kate Camp, the excerpt from "Kapitel ett" [in swedish] by Jenny Tunedal, "In the city of light by Larry Levis, "Discussion of Venus (Pour Hölderlin XII) by Robert Schindel, "On the death of my grandmother" by Glenn Colquhoun and "Salamander" by Lance Larsen.

But one poet gave us an unforgettable devotion, full of passion and sincerity.

V-speaks, by Cher Corbin
(Published in algonquinstable.net. 2011-02-18.)

I am here.
I reside between two pillars of strength.
At times I seek solace in my own thoughts.
My inner workings irritate me on the lunar cycle
But that is Nature’s instruction sheet,
Preparing me for the ultimate task.

I have seen the faces of my two children.
I have watched them enter the world
Screaming and kicking,
Warm and bloody,
Sticky, with their protective cases now dismantled.
They take their first breaths.
My job is complete.

I no longer live for others to direct.
I am my own symphony.

...

Over the past decade
The excitement has waned.
The routine became mundane.
I was lucky to even break a sweat.

But Fate can be kind
I was presented with a gift
A bit late, but he came.
Totally unexpected this was.

Hours and hours we spent
Exploring each other’s hidden secrets,
Using our whole being to touch and drink,
Hold and sip.

I am awake again.

I have peaked.
Can you hear me?
I no longer whimper.
Hear me roar!
I am coming!