the linguist

the linguist

I am learning another language
hanging my thoughts on grammar
syntax, punctuation

caught by the concave husk of vowels
at the roof of your mouth

and we stitch our conversations together
out of disassembled building blocks
and butterfly nouns, unsatisfied
verbs like spiky handwriting
slanting downward

I have heard of people falling
in love with language
in love through language
in love without a language

but never has anyone told me
love itself is a language
that lacks the infinitive;
possessing merely
the immediate present
reflexing into the
past.

Hmmm... This poem has two major parts of it that are wholly unconnected with each other. One has to do with the learning of language and the other has to do with love being a language... so it might be good to try to connect these ideas with each other.

Also, the first part pretty much starts with stanza three also... I might get rid of the first two stanzas, or at least try to smooth them out. They seem a bit unnecessary right now.

Snoink wrote:Hmmm... This poem has two major parts of it that are wholly unconnected with each other. One has to do with the learning of language and the other has to do with love being a language... so it might be good to try to connect these ideas with each other.

Also, the first part pretty much starts with stanza three also... I might get rid of the first two stanzas, or at least try to smooth them out. They seem a bit unnecessary right now.

I agree with snoink. The first two stanzas are dangling. They are attached just enough to hold on, but we want to sew these babies together. As I read for the second time I realized that you could completely scrap the first to stanzas and the poem would be fine. If you want those two, I would completely re-write them. Try to veer away from learning the language. At least the part about grammar, because it threw me off what the poem was actually going to be about.

Hope I helped,

A. S.