Thesaurus

March 22, 2007 at 7:31 am 2 comments

Billy Collins

Listen (to Collins read)

It could be the name of a prehistoric beast
that roamed the Paleozoic earth, rising up
on its hind legs to show off its large vocabulary,
or some lover in a myth who is metamorphosed into a book.

It means treasury, but it is just a place
where words congregate with their relatives,
a big park where hundreds of family reunions
are always being held,
house, home, abode, dwelling, lodgings, and digs,
all sharing the same picnic basket and thermos;
hairy, hirsute, woolly, furry, fleecy, and shaggy
all running a sack race or throwing horseshoes,
inert, static, motionless, fixed and immobile
standing and kneeling in rows for a group photograph.

Here father is next to sire and brother close
to sibling, separated only by fine shades of meaning.
And every group has its odd cousin, the one
who traveled the farthest to be here:
astereognosis, polydipsia, or some eleven
syllable, unpronounceable substitute for the word tool.
Even their own relatives have to squint at their name tags.

I can see my own copy up on a high shelf.
I rarely open it, because I know there is no
such thing as a synonym and because I get nervous
around people who always assemble with their own kind,
forming clubs and nailing signs to closed front doors
while others huddle alone in the dark streets.

I would rather see words out on their own, away
from their families and the warehouse of Roget,
wandering the world where they sometimes fall
in love with a completely different word.
Surely, you have seen pairs of them standing forever
next to each other on the same line inside a poem,
a small chapel where weddings like these,
between perfect strangers, can take place.

From The Best Cigarette.

The Thesaurus – for any lover of words and poetry. And for others, you will never look at the Thesaurus the same way again. Billy Collins’ poetry is limpid humour and irony mixed with real human experience and emotion. Every poem is an experience, a passion for words, jazz, cigarettes, jotting notes on the margin, or perhaps, taking off Emily Dickinson’s Clothes. :)

The entire audio CD is available for download here. Upload all 34 poems on to your iPod, burn a CD and now, Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,/it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,/ it will be lurking in some obscure corner of your iPod. * :)

“Poetry is my cheap means of transportation, … by the end of the poem the reader should be in a different place from where he started. I would like him to be slightly disoriented at the end, like I drove him outside of town at night and dropped him off in a cornfield.” – Billy Collins

[blackmamba]

Entry filed under: Billy Collins, Black Mamba, English. Tags: .

Love we must part now Untoward Occurence at Embassy Poetry Reading

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