A Poem About A Canal

[3zu]

A Poem About A Canal 


She spiralled—almost shatterproof—
a victim, a stray country,
like limbs at war.
She tortured and corrupted 
and turned my bicycle into a language
that spoke to me and said:

This is your idiot culture,
this shiny system,
this laugh riot.
These fractures and cracks and breaks 
are your real bones.
This acrobat is your real flesh.
You're a railway
and, despite your inhibitions, 
you have set yourself on fire
so that everyone can see
exactly what you are 
and what you fail to be.

We listened, 
ran off, hid, and spat
some garbled platitudes 
on a dustbin lid.

Sad. First, it begins "she" but this she just hangs there, no ref to anything. Is the poet a stray country? Another victim of imagination? Despite these questions I read through to the end where I found the poem describing itself succinctly:

"and spat
some garbled platitudes
on a dustbin lid"

The non-referencing "She" at the very beginning marked a downward spiral that the poem could not pull out of. The bicycle turned into language is a novel even exciting idea that never got off the ground and, worse, it's first destination head-on splat is "idiot culture" -

The writer stepped on himself right out the gate and the result is best expressed by the poem itself:
"you have set yourself on fire
so that everyone can see
exactly what you are
and what you fail to be"