I believed the linguist
On the radio who said words are most interesting
When they indicate something not there,
Something not inherently in or of themselves.
Freud thought of writing as the voice of an absent person.
I miss my father, and though I see signs,
I’ve begun to forget the sound of his voice.
So the roads come after, not before, which puzzled
The Japanese tourists on the architectural tour
In Harvard Square. Mercy, therefore, is made.
A Baedeker to follow, in any missing language.
A little embarrassing after all that no, there’s nobody here
And her form too is continual instruction.
The new poem is the old master’s painting.
Manifest suffering in every time zone
While father, as he must, goes elsewhere.
The old poem…There are no old poems,
Only new textbooks directing
The unprepared student to the painting
Behind the poem. I believed the phonetist,
Waking one day at last lost in the vowels
Of her dreaming.
Sleep me there.
The new poem is the sound
In the old master’s painting.
We’ll be tortured there,
Along with the animals
Whose suffering is mute
Or written in our missing language.
Father. Inconsequential me.
The feathers in our death.
Falling into yours.
“About Suffering They Were” from Missing Her by Claudia Keelan. Copyright © 2009 by Claudia Keelan. Reprinted with permission from Claudia Keelan.
Claudia Keelan is the author of six collections of poetry including Refinery, The Secularist, Utopic, and The Devotion Field. Her awards include the Jerome Shestack Award from the American Poetry Review, the Beatrice Hawley Award from Alice James Books, the Robert D. Richardson Award from the Denver Quarterly and the Silver Pen Award from the State of Nevada. Her poetry has been anthologized in The Body Electric (Norton), American Hybrid (Norton), Lyric Postmodernisms (Counterpath), and The Book of Irish American Poetry (University of Notre Dame Press). She lives in Las Vegas with her husband, the poet Donald Revell, and their children Ben and Lucie.