Posted on June 12, 2015
by Elan Mudrow
All throats are coated
There is no clear speech
It is, a cluttered emptiness
Search for words, understood only
By mimicry, representation sounded
And it seems that voice knows
What part of the night
To split open wide, with ruckus
Within the apex of all silence
The place trust is set safely
Tearing open the deepest of quells
Sleep knows nothing about dreams
Because, fast comes the first utterance
And the sun sets a measurement
Ironically, making no sound in travel
Rays search, though, it’s light
The beam that warms the spot
Where my cat lies, twitching in dream
Unaware of how the orbits
Slide quickly across the floor
And I swear that cat is Eliot
Where he touches, nomenclature
Fur is found, forever adhered
To my town clothes, categorizing
The attempt to name things, out loud
He sleeps whenever, mumbling
In his laziness, it amuses him
Especially in daylight, a purr
Twitches my ear, meows must be written
Down, in a dug-up hope Hieroglyphic
He follows the sun or the furnace
Whichever argues for the warmest spot
I, can only watch, knowing
Speaking to him, kindly, about our star
Who circles who, and why, misleading
His four paws scamper to me
When my throat clears
But it’s the sound of me, questioning
Breaking the heated silence
I measure names, always have
I repeat the classifications, audibly
Wars have names, Desire is called
Something—moves in response
The Sound, love knows all our names
Chapters titled and files misplaced
Eliot cries as cats before him have done
Identifying the unspeaking warmth
The clearness of his speech
Simple enough, if one understands
The name of every star
That has split the night wide open
Category: PoetryTags: Author, Cats, Names, Noise, Poem, Poetry, Speech, Sun, Words, Writer, Writing
Good stuff, great images.
LikeLiked by 1 person
A friend of mine grew up in Lille. He now has a child.
That photo is awesome. Where is it from?
WOW! this might be one of my favorites by you! Very well structured and moving piece.
Yes, your cat Eliot wrote them 🙂
Cats dreaming–a two word poem. You’ve expanded the idea quite nicely.
Tradition and the Individual Talent was written by the same person who wrote Cats, which turned into the Broadway musical of the same name.
Really interesting juxtaposition of the card catalogue and the complex language of Cats.
In terms of reader experience–logical or not–makes me think of all the times my husband got home from work, put on the headpiece of an old lion costume, picked up our daughters in turn, and danced wildly to Mr. Mistoffelees. I think they had all the songs memorized. Which Cat are you?
wow ..what is that..
That is a beautiful piece of writing!
That was really really good.
I liked the poem and it works so well with the black and white images.
LikeLiked by 2 people
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