from the deep I call you Elohin – she says
while the strings jingle in the mind
it is a call that frequently resounds
and hospital beds
yet this time the strings are pressed
up to the gallows knot – they make
the only standing stalk creak
we don’t know who she was –
we too when in the deep
did call and heard the strings
but only in the antechambers
in unclear layers
we were not answered
and surely she wasn’t either
Thou shalt not stylize
If poetry cannot be written after this, then not even lament should be allowed. Lament, that polite grieving, mellifluous weight or mourning lightness enjoyed subvocally as a little tune of glory. A ventriloquist celebrating his lost game.
Proceed instead by following the rituals of the ancients, of those who do not betray. Make spiritism a technique stemming from kind spirits, condescend with dark arts that conjure the lack and weave darts through the elements. Fortune-telling, target practice. Heal the puncture of arrows with the same old line of meaning until you fall under the spell. And on the death-rattle the mind takes endless notes on some random plagency.
The seven minutes of silence shall not be allowed. Proceed, there is still much to tune. To hell with understanding. Extending. To be forgotten.
Catarina Costa was born in Coimbra in 1985. She has a degree in Psychology. Some of her poems can be found in Oficina de Poesia and a Sibila, among others. In 2007 she won the Guilherme de Faria Poetry Prize, and published her poetry book Marcas de urze (Editora Cosmorama).