New Poem: My Brother’s Guitar

I’m feeling a bit uninspired to write a witty introduction. I just spent the last hour translating Descartes from Latin into English. Apparently, part of the reason Descartes translated himself into Latin was because he didn’t really know what he was trying to say in french. But we should be grateful, otherwise that classic line “Cogito, ergo sum” would sound like a sneeze.  

Descartes: I did not think
[therefore I disappeared]  

Anyway, here is a poem because I like my brother and I really like the myth of Orpheus…Byron, sorry I touched your guitar.  

My Brother’s Guitar  

When he wasn’t home I’d play in secret,
Shape myself against the body of its music,
Pluck a string and listen for the full vibrato  

That wavered with transparency, sounding board
And listening post, where foreknown language
Filled me to the senses, so that I became  

One of the newly born to the halls of Hades,
Delivered a blow by the first note
From the fist of the living, left stuttering,  

Dumb and repentant, like a dead man
With an ear to the world I could not waken,
Speechless and still damned but raised to attention.

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