…elsewhere. Learning the landscape of Michael Ondaatje’s poetry. Blogging will resume tomorrow, but until then:
The Distance of a Shout
We lived on the medieval coast
south of warrior kingdoms
during the ancient age of the winds
as they drove all things before them.
Monks from the north came
down our streams floating that was
the year no one ate river fish.
There was no book of the fores,
no book of the sea, but these
are the places people died.
Handwriting occurred on waves,
on leaves, the scripts of smoke,
a sign on a bridge along the Mahaweli River.
A gradual acceptance of this new language.