Ring my bells with your tongue.
These lines from the poem of a famous Russian poet Fyodor Tyutchev came to mind while we were preparing this post:
Нам не дано предугадать,
Как слово наше отзовется,-
И нам сочувствие дается,
Как нам дается благодать… *
Really, we never know what the last line of a poem will be when we write the first one. Especially when we’re collaborating with you, our Dear Writers and Readers.
And guess what? It’s this very thing that makes the Open Source Poetry feature one of our favourites here on Unbolt Me. We believe it’s one of your favourites too. The overwhelming number of submissions bears this out!
The lines quoted above also serve as a kind of epigraph. They’re strangely relevant to the themes of our newly completed poem, and pose pertinent questions. How often do we regret words that were said? How often do we hurt those closest to us with our tongues, sharpened with jealousy, even obduracy?
But, hey, you can rest assured that we won’t have any such regrets concerning our new poem! (Oh, and g’day Andy! Your contribution to our Open Source Poetry feature was an absolute corker!)
She looks in the book like into a mirror
The face of her sister is there
She wears daffodils in her hair
She reminds her of Shakespeare’s Ophelia
Amid weeping willows along the shore
She lives in the memory of a love no more
She regrets a past whipped with hysteria
And a tongue sharpened by jealousy
That stabbed at fond hearts so zealously
* Time will return the word we place
In ways we cannot ask ahead;
Compassion comes our way instead
Much as the blessedness of grace.
(Translation by Evgenia Sarkisyants)
TONY: There’s a time when I wouldn’t have dared to draw something like this.
TATI: Uh huh. You usually only dare to draw dildos and boobs.
TONY: Yes, now I can add shit to the list.
TATI: Wow. Now you can be considered a mature artist.
TONY: What does that even mean anyway? How mature is it to draw a dick and balls instead of covering them up with a pair of underpants? No, I just drew these things because I wanted to. Nothing more, nothing less.
TATI: Definitely, the name of Tony Single shall now be featured alongside those of Odd Nerdrum, Pieter Bruegel…
TATI: Artists. Who drew shit.
TONY: Oh, what they drew was shit? Or they literally drew with shit? And it was shit? Or brilliant.
TATI: They drew shit. Literally.
TONY: Oh, shit. Really?
TONY: Well, aren’t you just in a silly mood today!
TATI: And you’re in a shitty mood.
TONY: Well, I’m trying to have a serious conversation about god being a palindrome of dog—god being a dog’s leavings, if you will. Perhaps god’s not the great almighty being we make him out to be. Perhaps we ought to hold dogs in higher esteem.
TATI: What a weird concept. Was it a car or a cat I saw?
TATI: Perhaps cars are not the great almighty beings we make them out to be. Perhaps we ought to hold cats in higher esteem.
TONY: But… but… Cats. Cars. They’re not palindromes! You’re completely ruining my whole point!
TATI: But… but… Your ‘shit’ doesn’t spell ‘Tony’ backwards!
TONY: Are you calling me shit?
TATI: No way! I’m honestly trying to follow your shitty logic.
TONY: I’m wondering how many times we can get away with saying the word ‘shit’ in this discussion…
TATI: I suppose we’re going to get beans anyway, but not because of some doo doo balls on your picture, Tony.
TONY: I literally have no idea what you just said.
TATI: I suppose our readers will tell you. I just know I don’t want to get beans.
TONY: What the shit does your ‘get beans’ mean? I’m so confused!
TATI: Wait and see.
TONY: Erm… Okay? How about we just move on from shits and beans and… well, talk about the ‘god’ part of my illustration?
(Tati begins to walk away.)
TONY: Tati? Hey! Wait! TATI?!
(She pays absolutely no attention to him.)
TONY: Well… shit.