15 December 2006

The First Lady (of poetry)


This is no Plath nor Dickinson, no Angelou, this is a wholly
new persona crashing the hallowed halls, painting the
sacred wall, pissing up the rope of poetic treason;
that she is seething with indignation barely contained
within tight penned lines is not surprising.

This thin enough to peel in golden sunlight disguise
and the multi-faceted diamond beneath is hidden in
a maze of double sens. There is a thousand layers to
peel of a million personalities unexpurgated – but
somewhere near the core you’ll find The First Lady.

Be awed, Royalty has that power but first you must
read and recite the poetry aloud – this is not an ingĂ©nue’s
work, there is depth denying tender years, wisdom belying
plebiscites for truth and an unrepentant penchant for
surprises. She is first because there is no other choice.

We did not discover Susan jane, she was ready-made
for the role at birth, an infant prodigy with an uncanny feel
for words and a shrewd brain biding its time. There is no
shame in The First Lady, she is free of poetic crime
for all of nostalgia’s time, absolved of the claim forever.

Long May She Reign!
© I.D. Carswell 2006
For Susan jane Goldner
Read her poetry at:

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