Guest poem submitted by VG:
(Poem #1530) The Donkey When fishes flew and forests walked And figs grew upon thorn, Some moment when the moon was blood Then surely I was born; With monstrous head and sickening cry And ears like errant wings, The devil's walking parody On all four-footed things. The tattered outlaw of the earth, Of ancient crooked will; Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb, I keep my secret still. Fools! For I also had my hour; One far fierce hour and sweet: There was a shout about my ears, And palms before my feet. |
At the age of eight, my eldest sister decided to teach me (aged six) and our two other sisters (aged four and eight) this poem. Why she chose this poem I don't know, nor do I remember how she went about teaching it. All I know is that she was eminently successful, and even now we can recite the poem perfectly. At six, I had no idea what the poem was about (though I recited it with pride and passion, excited by the idea of flying fish and a moon of blood), but because I learned it so early, the fierce beauty of the poem is now enriched with nostalgia for me. VG.
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