A pastiche of Neruda

And so I came to think that I should write

poetry

and that I should take my inspiration from Neruda

(though most of me knew that all I could ever achieve would be a pastiche of Neruda).

Who I have never read.

But I have heard a seventies TV cop repeat his words. And

I have been transported (and other clichés)

I have been filled up by his words (and the deep nuanced voice of that seventies TV cop)

filled up as though by…

something

poetry I guess.

I have felt those playful, gnarled, burnished words caress me

as doubtless (I imagine) they were intended to caress some voluptuous muse;

and my pretty little ego has felt Neruda’s words making love

to this long gone, imaginary woman

and felt, like so many thousands of others have felt, that they were addressed to me alone, 

that this shared experience was utterly unique, and dared to think that I should write

poetry.

And I have written this shitty little poem about poetry

in the hopes that you will think me clever.