a poem by Ivan J. Kauffman from his collection,
The Ironshop & Chartres (1982)
Declaimed.
That is a word seldom used these days.
Once popular it has fallen into disuse in our times
when anger and psychology have been all the rage.
And now I must ask (timidly)
is it so unfashionable as to be unspeakable
that one might take Isaiah, or Jeremiah
(writers of verse of some distinction)
or Amos the shepherd (long before Marx)
or William Blake, the unemployed printer
as one’s teachers?
Or must we follow forever
those bored aesthetes who spend entire lifetimes
dressing their complaints in the borrowed elegance
of an island language?
These two lands are not the same.
I have returned to the language of my childhood,
to the words my mother used to tell me certain things
which were necessary for my survival.
A prophet is a poet who has something to say.
Absolutely brought my deep emotions to the forefront this evening.
I could and do relate to the poem. Sheer brilliance
I once was an active Shepherd.