[James Brancheau]

Rev 3

Unpronounced
....--After my laryngectomy

I can click my tongue
like anyone, and smack

my lips, but god I miss,
even more than words,

other deeper wordless
sounds. Yes, I can exhale

for emphasis and inhale
my patience, but I’ve

drowned. Kiss me now,
feel how I’ve lost my

breath, or, rather, how
I’ve learned to breathe

underwater, underground,
from a hole cut above

my chest—a stone’s skip
from my soppy heart,

closer to the simpler
bones. So please lie

with me again, buried
under sound. Diver

silent, your bubbles
bursting, remind me

how you'd wake without
a voice, without which

way was up beneath
my words, the crashing

surf, float dead in
heaven alive on Earth.


*Adjustments to last three couplets: you woke ---> you'd wake; the words ---> my words; floated ---> float.

*show me ---> remind me


Revision 2 (Shorter Version)

Unpronounced
....--After my laryngectomy

I can click my tongue
like anyone, and smack

my lips, but god I miss,
even more than words,

other deeper wordless
sounds. Yes, I can exhale

for emphasis and inhale
my patience, but I’ve

drowned. Kiss me now,
feel how I’ve lost my

breath, or, rather, how
I’ve learned to breathe

underwater, underground,
from a hole cut above

my chest—a stone’s skip
from my soppy heart,

closer to simpler bones.
So please lie with me

again on the beach of
in between, show me

happy and unheard,
how to wake without

which way is up
beneath the crashing

surf and float dead in
heaven alive on Earth.



*Note: For all revisions, what precedes "simpler" is the same as the original. Except of course the title change.



Revision 1

Faith
....--After my laryngectomy

I can click my tongue
like anyone, and smack

my lips, but god I miss,
even more than words,

other deeper wordless
sounds. Yes, I can exhale

for emphasis and inhale
my patience, but I’ve

drowned. Kiss me now,
feel how I’ve lost my

breath, or, rather, how
I’ve learned to breathe

underwater, underground,
from a hole cut above

my chest—a stone’s skip
from my soppy heart,

closer to the simpler
bones. So please lie

with me again, buried
under sound, show me

happy and unheard,
how to wake without

a voice, without which
way is up or down

beneath the crashing
surf and float dead

in heaven alive on Earth—
your name a rush of

breath, unspoken and
more blessed on my

beach of in between,
the vanishing word.



Original

Faith
....--After my laryngectomy

I can click my tongue
like anyone, and smack

my lips, but god I miss,
even more than words,

other deeper wordless
sounds. Yes, I can exhale

for emphasis and inhale
my patience, but I’ve

drowned. Kiss me now,
feel how I’ve lost my

breath, or, rather, how
I’ve learned to breathe

underwater, underground,
from a hole cut above

my chest—a stone’s skip
from my soppy heart,

closer to the simpler
bones. So please lie

with me again, content
to be unheard, buried

under sound, to wake
without which way is up

beneath the crashing
surf and float dead

in heaven alive on Earth—
your name a rush of

breath, unspoken and
more blessed on my

beach of in between,
the vanishing word.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, James—

I have tried to imagine life without the ability to speak, and I can’t do it. Those of us with speech tend to use it carelessly and too often. I imagine that those without speech develop not only a feeling for the preciousness of words, but also a heightened sense of compassion for the suffering of others, whose pain they cannot glibly dismiss with the band-aid of a thoughtlessly spoken platitude. All of their words must be written, and so, thought about more carefully.

Your comparison of silence to drowning and burial, separation from others by water or soil, is very moving. The short lines, with white space after each even-numbered line creates silences and re-creates the difficulty of breathing with a tracheostomy. The repetition of the syllable “un” throughout the poem suggests a loss and perhaps imitates the sound of the N’s breathing. I was affected by the N’s bravery. Thank you for sharing this.

Glenn

[John Riley]

First, I'm sorry you had to go through this. I can't imagine what it's like. I hope they have ways to work with you to help you communicate.

Second, the poem is done. I like it as it is and have no nits and see no need for any. I don't know if you submit your poems but if you do this one is ready.

[W T Clark]

As with sightlessness: there is something both blankly dull and despairing in muteness, but also something mystical. Negation is its own religion because it often can manifest something more truthful in its seeming disillusionment than a positive, reinforcing or creating power; and yet, it can be just as intoxicating. Only when something fails, do we perceive its full bounty. Often the primordial insistence of words: their sudden, ancient, almost mythical force only occurs to us when that Thing—which we can't fully express but detect all the same, when the words make contact with it—is lost, with our speechlessness. Words are forcefields, I think; how naked we are without our shielding. A poet who had no training in literature but read the mystics, once told me that in his opinion poetry is the closest thing we have to regaining a sense of the unfallen, primordial language that fully fused object and signifier; because then poetry was a task of listening for the right word, he thought I was therefore more fully suited to its blind listening-game. I don't no what to say about that: although I do think poetry is also a seeing-game. But I do think muteness has something of a similar tenor to it. Maybe we have to fall almost to the bottom before we can conceive of the top. If the "I" is your "I": then I hope you are doing as well as you could be, Jim. I like the poem. I am unsure of your ending some couplets with "my" or "of". With so much enjambed couplets the pressure falls very fully on those words left at the edge of space: as if they were a kind of set of keys. I wonder if the poem could be two couplets shorter? It is on to something: deeply expressive. I prefer the thread title.

Hope this helps.

[Yves S L]

Hello James,

I think the whole extended beach trope is too heavy for the slender couplets, adds too much rhetorical weight in an attempt at a climatic cinematic finish. There are lighter ways to achieve cohesion and closure.

Especially that last couplet sounds like overreaching to me.

[Jim Moonan]

.
I agree with large chunks of what Glenn and Cameron said.

The loss leaves a gap in the N's ability to express thoughts using the instrument that produces spoken words. Let your imagination be the bridge that fills the void between the former and the latter.

I think the couplets work nicely for the reasons Glenn points out. I hear a halting, disembodied voice in the thin lines and spaces.

As a specimen, this is a prime example of poetry’s reach inward. This is what poetry is for. It’s the breathless soul that speaks without words. That's what I feel inside this poem.

There is a faint whisper of humor in the way it begins. It attempts to be light-hearted in what is a difficult circumstance. But from then on the poem deepens into a struggle to say what has always been a struggle: to find a way to convey "the inarticulate speech of the heart." (Van Morrison). There is a sense of disconnect, of disorientation, and quiet desperation. Grief even.

It’s essential poetry. It’s mobilizing the power of the word to communicate beyond definitions and glimpse at the wordless.

I agree with Cameron about the title.

What is most touching to me in the poem is that I feel a vulnerability, a gentle reaching out to a loved one for solace through the transition. It is done with great tenderness.

As I said: this is what poetry is for.

.

[Yves S L]

just to say
emotion is the primordial
language
that some people listen to
constantly
that some people analyze
constantly
that is your wordless words
apologies
i don't see the need for
mystification
what is a mystic that cannot
self-observe
and see that signifiers
are arbitrary
except when reflecting
and being coloured by
emotions
uncoutanble number of emotions
finite number of words
most things
cannot be said

It's cool talking about wordless words but how do babies communicate? Does anyone remember? I do entertain myself. Yeah.

[John Riley]

I want to suggest you copy and paste what Cameron has written and keep it with the poem to refer to if you make any changes. I didn't see a need but perhaps I didn't read deeply enough. It's a strong poem with a theme you should revisit with more of your work.

[Mark McDonnell]

Hi James,

This is very moving and I really wish you all the best. I think the words of the poem are done but I wonder about the formatting. There is a subtle pulse of rhythm and rhyme running through much of the poem that seems somewhat blocked by the formatting choice of making the couplets a more or less uniform length. The halting quality this gives might be deliberate. It matches the theme, in some sense, I suppose. But I wondered if you might play with the length of the lines, the end words and enjambments. Free it up a little.

Here's the first 6 couplets, after playing around a little, to give you an idea. The reformatting has also allowed some of the initial punctuation to go. Obviously this could be improved upon too. And you're free, of course, to dismiss the whole idea. Your version first.

1.

I can click my tongue
like anyone, and smack

my lips, but god I miss,
even more than words,

other deeper wordless
sounds. Yes, I can exhale

for emphasis and inhale
my patience, but I’ve

drowned. Kiss me now,
feel how I’ve lost my

breath, or, rather, how
I’ve learned to breathe

2.

I can click my tongue
like anyone

and smack my lips
but god I miss

even more than words
other deeper wordless sounds.

Yes, I can exhale
for emphasis and inhale

my patience, but I’ve drowned.
Kiss me now, feel how

I’ve lost my breath, or rather,
how I’ve learned to breathe

[James Brancheau]

Thank you very, very much Glenn, John, Cameron, Yves, Jim, and Mark. I’ll wait to respond individually as I tend to open my mouth too soon regarding the work that I post, which is probably unhelpful. Though I may still go with the original, I have posted a revision.

And thanks for the concern and best wishes regarding my health. Yeah, it sucks, but I’m doing alright. Recovery has been slow, but for sure I’m making progress and last week I received the news that, for now at least, I’m cancer free. My first check up (MRI/sonogram etc) after treatment came back clean. Was so so nervous about that. Another one in a few months... So, not dead yet (I feel happy! I feel happy!*), and will be back.

*Couldn’t resist the Monty Python.