By Martin Rosner
Increasingly, I am a spectator.
I see the world as slides
Viewed through a stereopticon,
People fixed in place, silent,
Closing out their empty words,
The rage, the pain,confusion
Surging through the tortured air,
Broadcast like a storm
Of sound, stifling the music
Of the wind, the birds,
The language of the waves.
You say I am retreating,
That I am wrapping up
My feelings to avoid
The clamor of humanity,
The ceaseless din
Of history unfolding
Like the swelling chorus
Of a dirge.
You say that I walk backwards
Towards the future,
Unable to shield my eyes
From the horrors of the past,
Knowing that they penetrate
The illusion of the present,
That those who walk
Beside me are anesthetized
Just enough to dull
The searing truth
Which would consume them
Like a sudden blast of flame.
But I am no coward,
Just old enough to know
That you are right.
Martin Rosner, M.D. has been published in numerous magazines and newspapers including 17 poems in "The New York Times" and is currently part of the course in modern poetry at American International College. He lives in New Jersey.
I am familiar with most of Martin Rosner's poems and have often
ReplyDeleteshared them with colleagues who have reveled in his delicious verse.
Last year Martin agreed to collaborate on a structured e-mail correspondence
with students in my Modern Poetry course, allowing them to explicate
his poems and providing detailed feedback on their efforts. It turned out
to be one of my most rewarding teaching strategies, for students
experienced the power of reading poems by and communicating personally with
a legendary master.
Arthur H. Gingras/ Professor Of English/American International College