“Writing is only another way of giving, a courtesy, if you will, and a form of love.” Muriel Rukeyser

My multi-media project hit a long pause as I transitioned from working on the visual work to responding and being inspired by her poems, specifically, her collection of poems published under the title, Out of Silence.

This first draft is my poem in response to Rukeyser’s “The Poem as Mask” from The Speed of Darkness (1968).

The Poem as Mask

When she wrote about Kirkegaard and the Sunshine Supermen,

it was a mask.

When she swam in the hidden quarry, naked, splashing with joy,

it was a mask.

When she wrote of goddesses, gold-trimmed, ethereal maidens, singing songs of exile,

it was just her celebrating

but unable to sing.

There is no starlite, hidden quarry, no goddesses, only a memory of our divided lives.

The poet, “split open,” she wrote. Yes.

Two children, one scar.

Now, the goddesses raise their butterfly hands, joining them to make their own music.

How to Write a Poem

The words arrive

assembling themselves

on the tattered, Persian carpet in the center of the grand ballroom.

Anxiously, they await the poet.

Tapestries of silk cover each wall,

Large, dark paintings in gilded frames climb high, one above the other

Portraits wait still and frozen for the poet’s arrival.

Velvet drapes keep the dawn’s sunlight at bay

Large ropes curl around them

From a distance, footsteps echo down the long marble hallway.

The double doors thrust open,

curtains stir,

Their velvet ropes fall to the floor

A faint must rises as they settle on the marble; the poet is here

The words scatter to the edge of the room

The poet enters; sunlight pierces the drapes–falling across the floor in narrow bands.

Words gather at the center of the room,

Lining up on warp and weft. . .

A poem appears, the poet studies the portraits, turns to leave,

Pausing, she breathes in the spirit, pausing to listen,

knowing what comes next.