Just stumbled across this in my poetry archive! I think it dates back to the 1970’s.



The pain of not to know
a words true meaning –
(a heartfelt paradox
so tautologically entwined)

brain travels inscapes
of the mind

the universe declaims
I AM – the exocentric
altar. Delving
through layers of time

exploring a fresh terrain –
we dream of worlds
where words were not yet

known. We fail to understand.
Seeking our solace
in links with primal man –
we feel the air vibrate

with all our fears,
and through the storm
we hear the voice that tears
at our discretion.

All is, and nought eludes
our sense, each particle
is new, and each the wholeness.

Then vision fades.

Unable to untie
our deepest fears,
from realms of theory,

we seek salvation
in vacuity –

unable to unite
the reasons for this life
with joy in living

we yearn for sunlight
to dissipate the gloom –
at each encounter
ache for renewed creation.

The phase explodes –

gone is all sense
and reason yields
to circumstance.
Our reminiscence magnifies
the mis-spent days –
heroic sacrifice
now reeks of self-abuse.

Our word-linked knowledge
looks to primal man –

speaking of worlds
where words were not yet known –

no matter how we squirm
we fail to understand

that words
are still the master
of the man.

Malcolm Evison

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