The Sound Of Now
First line from Marie Ponsot, ‘Reminder’
I am rich. I am poor. Time is all I own.
Time is fair. Time is foul. I am all I own.
Pale hands pick me up and let me down again.
I smell shit and Shalimar. I smell cologne.
No matter on which page you hide, in which book,
I’ll know your name when I can’t recall my own.
A sob?… no, it’s a stab of recognition.
The knife cuts deeper. My thought is all I own.
They called me Marīa when I read Latin.
In this place I have no name to call my own.
Until the end, the sound of one hand clapping —
In the trees, the toucan plays a slide trombone.
Credit note:Published in Ambit 199: 71 (London; Martin Bax and Carol Ann Duffy, eds.) and reprinted in her new collection Trace Fossils.
Tim says: There are two good reasons that this is my Tuesday Poem for this week: first, it’s a fine and most elegantly constructed poem, and second, I am running an interview with Mary – my second interview with her – later this week on my blog. Keep an eye out for it!
You can read all the Tuesday Poems on the Tuesday Poem blog – the featured poem is on the centre of the page, and the week’s other poems are linked from the right-hand column.