Wednesday, 20 January 2016


Land & Tittle    Christopher McCarthy

When I read a poem  – or hear it being read –
I  imagine  it   was written   as close to me as 
she is  &   listen  to   each   word   land  

your words land  prettyclose,  &   so much so
I imagine  the  poem   is a postcard  to me

solid, speaking well, from some sunny place:  silent

when  so many small words   lie so close together
tiny spaces  in between  are  evenmore,  important

the little square for the stamp: silent’s reserved parking space
your correspondence  poems - our sending columns of words
which gain meaning & expression from the quiet  pauses, waiting
            late  &  human

so many  of  your poems  land  pretty  close  
I can hear how tittle  is  title no longer:

          superscript spot – small distinguishing mark, diacritic
          dot on lowercase i or j –integral, part glyph

you remind me of Fr. Patrick, the priest,
who wrote ‘Ponc’, which is the point, dot,
& tittle, it begins:

            ponc mé – I point, I dot, I tittle
            but I leave in a gap after me

we correspond like that small distinguishing,
marking the dot over top of the i,
 the space after it, not one t–too much:
               cut i’s head off,
go to l

kick away j’s
soccer ball

tittle  sounds too much  like  diddle, & ‘Ponc’
sounds more like  punk  or worse, 


but there are too many poets, writing poems
to spoiled, aging priests, defrocked & hopeless
no, not that:

                 cut i’s head off,
three i’s grow up in its place

kick away j’s
soccer ball

pass it back   
               start a game

Christopher McCarthy | Toronto | 2015-2016

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