Words of Our Own

I was mystified at a recent poetry reading by Norene Cashen and Gregory Kiewiet, and I've laughed out loud at previous readings by local writers Peter Markus, Robert Fanning and others. So here's an attempt to reserve space, from now on, when we have it, for the "disease of eloquence," as the author below calls poetry, along with a brief introduction. —Rebecca Mazzei., Metro Times arts and culture editor

"This is the final poem in my book, The Reverse is Also True (Doorjamb Press). It is an exhale at the end of a long road. It is a confession about the process that humbly says to the reader, 'Here we are at the end. Thank you for sticking it out with me.' Writing poetry is like a slow-motion fall. When you hit the ground, your instincts and curiosity kick in and cause you to do a double-take. You come to your senses and try to figure out what just happened."

Now You Know
by Norene Cashen

That every window is a cinema
And the movie keeps running forever
That every egg is an egg
And never changes
That you can crack open a line
And another word will pop out
That I am just beginning
Which means it is over
That the truth and the lie are both true
And therefore more dangerous
That I write the same poem over
   and over
Because I believe I am writing
The other one
That the poem is the only way to say
Or to celebrate what you
That I am working on a secret
Dyslexic template for a new kind of
That I am standing on the edge
   of wonder
And there is no place to fall off
That John Berryman is somewhere still
That a tooth grows out of a tooth
To create a canine antenna
That I am not really a poet
Only a writer of broken English
That I only say I love you to see
What you will do