—for Jude Janett
You sing, and even
nine hundred miles away
all of my body
turns to ears—
and the ears of my
eyes and the ears
of my gut and
the ears of my ears
all sprout legs and
start dancing in awkward,
ecstatic and awe-drenched hallelujahs,
and I may be broken
and I am a mess but I
am dancing under
your pulpit, keep singing,
I am listening
to your shining
pounding rests.
hmmm… and Jude Janett’s lasted poetry blogpost is about her preaching sermons, and here you are mentioning “your pulpit.”
all those ears with which to hear. “…and I may be broken/and I am a mess…” but I’m dancing nonetheless.
not sure about “awkward,” though. its inclusion seems, well, awkward. outta place. a contrived humility—and such is the sorcery of Janett’s singing, that any/all awkwardness is overcome, right? also kinda breaks the poem’s spell, i think.
do LOVE the closing lines: I am listening/to your shining/pounding rests.
I very much had read her latest poetry blog … Oh yeah. I hear you about awkward, though there is the beautiful paradox, to be awkward and in divine resonance at the same time:)
I do love how you translate those non-ear parts into ears, then those freshly turned ears sprout legs! Listening, dancing. The verbs of the ecstatic.