Sunday, 14 June 2015

Sunday Poem


is a skill I learned at camp. Our neighbours went
to another kind of church, something more effusive.
One summer I went with Scott to his church's
camp. We were told to open our mouths and speak
as the spirit moved so that the devil wouldn't
understand. I made up sounds. garbled with
belief. Decades later I read from the devil
himself: James Joyce's jigsaw of bluddlefilth, Finnegans
Wake, intoned as the spirit moved me through
accents and volumes and felt as if a geyser had opened from
my chest. I got a cheque for my performance.
Confidence powered me through an evening of drinks
with strangers and poets. Sometimes words
mean nothing and everything. Open your mouth and see.
From Jabbering with Bing Bong (Anvil Press, 2015) by Kevin Spenst.  

1 comment:

kevin spenst said...

I'm flattered to be included on the Vehicle Press blog! Thanks, Carmine. If anyone's curious to hear more of the gibberish of which I speak, here's all of Finnegans Wake performed, read, sung, shouted by various musicians, poets and Joyce-enthusiasts: