Now, I apologize for not having “A Favorite Poem” for you back in February, as it was a busy month for me traveling, as well as it being a short month, in general. As it is March already, what I am going to do this month is catch up with an extra poem that would have been for February, and so that will be an extra post later on. So stay tuned!
In any case, today’s poem will be a bit different, as it is actually prose poetry, defined by me and by the person who wrote it. It is also very special in that I personally know the writer, T.M. Lawson, and am never disappointed by the caliber of her works. I would be lying if I said that she has not been such a huge inspiration for my own poetry; even though we have very different styles and themes, her always-experimental pieces have incited me to push myself and try new ones as well.
She should not go without credit, and so I will put the link to her website here: Lawson is Awesome.
…now on to the prose poem!
What first struck me about Lawson’s piece, “Time has not been a witness,” was the abstract, but still tangible nature of it. Personally, I struggle with abstract works, as I find them too obscure to relate to, and even being pretentious (the writer wants to sound intelligent, but in the end just confuses people…). However, with this prose poem, I was able to understand and appreciate the discussion of time, which in itself is an abstract, human invention (there are debates as to whether time really, truly exists), thanks to her vivid personification of it.
For instance, the lines “Time has been with you this whole time, in/ your house, eating your food, your actions” offers a visceral, even carnal, embodiment of Time; I find that this description represents the personage itself, as he/she even becomes Time through this process of devouring food through the seconds and minutes during the day.
The ending itself also greatly moved me, as Lawson attempts to explain the inescapable nature of Death. For me (and I am sure that other people can relate), the concept of Death is darkly overwhelming, not only because we cherish life too much, but also because we struggle to find words to explain it. And through that struggle, that inability to articulate, we are afraid of it. Lawson, however, is not afraid to confront Death, using words and images such as “last of the barrier” and “the last sliver of bone” to describe it, and in the process assuaging the readers’ minds from the scary inevitability of when the time comes.
Really, incredible work. It is a bit nerve-wracking, as I haven’t done close-reading in a long while since graduating from college. But also, T.M. Lawson does not know that I am sharing her work here, even though I am fairly certain that I am correctly crediting her work through the website link and whatnot. She knows me personally, and doesn’t knowing that I run this blog.
So T.M. Lawson: if you happen to stumble upon this post (and end up reading through the rest of my blog), I say hello!
Enjoy the prose poem, fellow bloggers, and I promise you the next “A Favorite Poem” later this month! Take care. 🙂
— The Finicky Cynic
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