[to be read in the tone of Allen Ginsberg's voice]
Montréal,
my concrete freedom
my frozen granite
my subzero marble
my dusting off the windshield
with cracks in the hood.
Montréal,
your hydro-bright scrapers
your dried-up-gum-on-métro-floors scrapers
your friendly neighbours
who have the decency of always minding their own business and never nodding hello.
Montréal,
I have never seen your true face
Because there is a language barrier
Montréal,
I will never be considered a true artist by your standards
Because there is a language barrier
Montréal,
I have tried,
time & time again
to understand the perplexities
nuances
& éxceptions of your language
But you have left me in the bitterness of your winter
and scorch of your summer.
Whatever,
is isn't really your language to begin with.
Montréal,
why is your beer so young?
and why take away my innocence?
and why sleep when I'm awake?
Montréal,
you are my rocking-horse
you are my saviour
death
&
re-birth.
Montréal,
you are my melodrama
my philosophy
my melancholy
Montréal,
why are you so cold in the shadows?
of the PVM
or the W?
Montréal,
why are you so shallow?
why are you so deep?
why are you so pretty?
your puke stained main
saturday at 3 am (although technically it's sunday)
and your stoned-cold tams
searching for mysticism with percussion
at the top of a mountain
Montréal,
do you have cabin fever?
or can everything be answered because you are an island
with collapsing bridges.
Montréal,
when all your exits cut off
and sink to rock bottom of China's lost canal
will you still love me, Montréal?
Montréal,
why are you so cold?
2 comments:
This is awesome. Some parts were a tad conceited, a tad obvious ("my philosophy / my melancholy" -- really Jordano? Really? you can do better than that.), but overall I quite liked this.
"I have never seen your true face / Because there is a language barrier / Montréal"
It's so true! That's what Montréal is! And of course "Whatever, / is (sic) isn't really your language to begin with." Very few people would dare say that, and you did, so good for you, because you're right.
Leaving the accent on "éxception" was very clever, so was "young" beer and the "puke stained main [nice alliteration there] / saturday at 3 am (although technically it's sunday)", and the "collapsing bridges", which must be a metaphor for Montréal's complex relationship with the outside world...
So yeah, good job.
I love this. In particular I like how you repeated the fact of the language barrier. Your poem (prose?) is entirely true and very in your face, which adds to it.
well done.
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