Today is the last day of poetry by Derek Walcott, and I leave you with this find:
A City's Death By Fire by Derek Walcott
After that hot gospeller has levelled all but the churched sky,
I wrote the tale by tallow of a city's death by fire;
Under a candle's eye, that smoked in tears, I
Wanted to tell, in more than wax, of faiths that were snapped like wire.
All day I walked abroad among the rubbled tales,
Shocked at each wall that stood on the street like a liar;
Loud was the bird-rocked sky, and all the clouds were bales
Torn open by looting, and white, in spite of the fire.
By the smoking sea, where Christ walked, I asked, why
Should a man wax tears, when his wooden world fails?
In town, leaves were paper, but the hills were a flock of faiths;
To a boy who walked all day, each leaf was a green breath
Rebuilding a love I thought was dead as nails,
Blessing the death and the baptism by fire.
At first I was dubious about this poem, and when in doubt about poetry, always read it out loud.
And it was amazing, especially the beginning.
Kudos, Derek Walcott.
After this week, I think I discovered another poet that I really liked.
In conclusion about this Literature Nobel Laureate:
His work is not the type to speak through rhymes and rythm, but through powerful ideas which make the soul tremble and let us meek human beings peek into the greater vision of humanity, of ideas, of love, of life. A solid form of poetry, more for the heart and the mind than the ears, but more for the heart.