"Do I hear an echo? Repeating every last word!
I heard you the first time loud and clear!
How many times do I need to say it,
your needle's caught in the same groove!"
When Teacher heard you the first time, loud and clear,
at six, trying on each phrase again,
your needle caught in the same groove,
She thought that you repeated things for emphasis.
But six times, trying on each phrase?
Each word beyond reason, extravagant,
even if you did repeat for emphasis.
She could tell you were talking to yourself,
in a world beyond reason, extravagant,
like trying to get the roll of a poem right
(as poets tell it ... talking to themselves),
cresting the wave's inside rising downfall.
That trying to get the roll of a poem right
is your inheritance, my Touretter's tics,
pulled by a wave's inside rising downfall,
until the right sound falls there into place.
My inheritance, yours, Touretter's tics,
our unruly tongue-clucks, snorts, and growls,
never getting the right sound quite in place,
the obsessive's curse. Revise! Revise
those unruly tongue-clucks, snorts, and growls.
The unfinished poem you circle towards
is the obsessive's curse: revise, revise
always until the listening stills. Let your mind rest.
You are the unfinished poem you circle towards.
And if the many times you will need to say it
is an unrest you will always mind, still, let me listen
to hear you echoin every last repeated word.
Palilalia (McGill-Queen's University Press 2008)
